Hero of His Own Story
by ClutteredDesk
Summary: "I bet you thought that was real heroic. Hell, every villain thinks he's the hero of his own story." Negan dropped down to lean in close to Daryl's face - the next words were for him alone. "But if you pull anything like that again, I will bring Beth out here just to watch you die." Full ensemble with a Bethyl twist, M for everything.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: While I love the show, I don't always agree with the writers' choices, to the point where I abandoned the show after the deaths of Beth and Tyrese. I'm all for killing characters when it serves the story, but they missed out on some great potential story-lines in favor of shock value. Even when I picked up watching again, I found myself rewriting episodes in my mind, so this story has been bouncing around in my head for a couple of years now. Beyond saving Beth and Tyrese (at least for now), there are a few other changes, which will be woven into the first couple of chapters and hopefully won't require much explanation. Standard disclaimer –these characters aren't mine, I just like to borrow them for a while.**

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Chapter 1: On the Road

Despite the chill in the night air, sweat dripped from the ends of Rick's hair as he watched his people, his family, being dragged to their knees on the gravel road, his heart sinking a little further into his gut as each one was lined up along either side of him. His emotions warred with each other, rage and heartache clashing for dominance.

_Some of us are going to die tonight_. He knew that, his law enforcement training and years of fighting for survival since the world went to shit both confirming that his situation was well and truly fucked. Still, part of him railed against what he knew to be true. After all, they'd been in worse situations and fought back. The Governor, the train cars, the massive hoard of undead swarming Alexandria's streets… they'd always found a way out, and he looked for one now.

Watching Daryl being unceremoniously thrown to the ground, arm and shoulder bloodied from an unseen wound, Rick couldn't help remembering another night on another road with another gun to his head, helpless while Joe and his "Claimers", as Rick had come to call them in his head after Daryl described their so-called code, threatened to rape and murder Michonne and Carl in front of him. Daryl wouldn't be materializing out of the woods to save them this time. Rick suddenly wished he were closer to both his wife and son, but Michonne was on the other side of Abraham, and Tyrese's hulking size blocked his view of Carl at the other end of the lineup.

_Pay attention, asshole. _Shane's voice in his ear brought Rick's focus back as Negan stood in front of him and began speaking. _Best chances to fight are when they're moving you or when they're real comfortable in themselves, and you gotta be ready for both._ Rick's subconscious wryly acknowledged that it was a sad day when the jackass who slept with his wife and tried to take his family for his own was the one making the most sense. Still, years of riding side-by-side with Shane into dangerous situations made his mind reach back to that familiar place to keep him grounded while Negan threatened to lay waste to his community's way of life. _Look around, who can help you?_

So Rick did just that, discretely surveying each person, mentally noting who was primed and ready for a fight, and who might end up being more of a hindrance than a help.

Eugene, set slightly apart from the group and sporting growing bruises on his face, was never someone Rick counted on in a fistfight and tonight was going to be no exception. The Saviors had clearly already gone to work on him and it wasn't a leap in Rick's mind how they had all been hunted down and herded to this spot so easily.

He could only catch glimpses of Carl without fully turning his head, and doing that would only call unwanted attention, but Rick knew his son. Kid might be barely fifteen years old, but if Rick gave even the slightest sign of a fight, Carl would be at his side. It was comforting, but also disconcerting – as much as Rick wanted to push back, he wasn't willing to risk his son unless he knew there was a good chance of getting him out alive.

Tyrese might not ever be the one to pick a fight, but Rick could see his fists clenched and knew the normally gentle giant would have no problem throwing his weight around, especially to protect his sister. And Aaron might look shocked and slightly panicky next to him, but Rick knew he would be just as quick to step up if the opportunity came.

Rick didn't even have to glance next to him to feel Sasha's anger and frustration rolling off her in waves. No, it wasn't the woman to his left that gave Rick pause, but the one on his right. Maggie was already in bad shape when they left Alexandria, and the trek clearly hadn't done her any favors. Sweaty, pale, and shaking both from fear and pain, Rick wasn't sure how long she'd stay conscious. At this point, it was only adrenaline keeping her upright and even that was bound to run out, sooner rather than later. And if they didn't get her out of her and to Hilltop, what was the point of all this? To risk everyone just to lose the very person, no, _people_, they were trying to save? Maggie and her unborn child were the mission, no matter what happened to the rest of them.

And it was obvious from Abraham's demeanor that he hadn't forgotten that for a second. He kept his hand discreetly on Maggie's back, steadying her, even as he rose up as high up on his knees as he could be without standing up. Michonne had done the same, as close to defying Negan's orders to kneel as they could without actually doing it, drawing the Saviors' collective attention in their direction. As much as Rick wished she wouldn't, he admired the hell out of Michonne for not backing down. She risked a glance in his direction as Negan began circling the group, _Eenie…Meenie…Miney…Moe…_ and Rick knew she was thinking along the same lines as he was. _Draw their focus, find an opening._

Rick was so focused on trying to catch the collective attentions of Daryl, Rosita, and Glenn that he was caught off guard when Negan stopped his sing-song parody of a children's game.

"Eugene. That's your fucking name, right? Eugene?" The leather-clad leader of the Saviors was standing directly in front of the fearful scientist, which meant that he and his barbed baseball bat were entirely too close to Carl for Rick's liking. He felt his gut clench up in a fresh wave of fear. _Please, Carl, stay down, stay quiet. Please, don't let me lose my son tonight. Not like this._

Negan impatiently tapped his bat against the top of his shoe while Eugene stammered out a reply, "I…I am… Dr. Eugene Porter… yes."

"Rumor has it you're a smart man. Are you a smart man, Dr. Eugene Porter?" Though he never raised it, Negan's voice carried over the group. Somehow, the man made it so that, even with his back partially turned towards Rick, he could hear the wide smile in the man's tone, even as Eugene grew visibly more shaken by the exchange.

"I have been known to generate a clever idea or two from time to time."

"Oh, don't be so modest, Dr. Eugene Porter! I mean, these fucking idiots here," he gestured to the rest of the group with Lucille, "might have the brawn, the fighting spirit, but they'd be nothing without a motherfucking genius like you to back them up with your fucking brilliant ideas and inventions."

Eugene shook and looked everywhere but at Negan as he tried to figure out what he was supposed to say to that, but, apparently, Negan didn't require a response now that he'd gotten warmed up.

"I bet that's exactly how it works! Tricky Rick over there comes up with the big crazy scheme, you figure out how to make it work, and the rest of these jackasses all just fall in line. Is that how it works, Eugene? Yeah," Negan nodded to himself and stopped pacing, bringing himself back to Eugene and stooping down to force the frightened man to meet his gaze.

"I can't help but think back to my outpost, the one your people wiped out even though none of us had ever laid a fucking finger on you or yours. I had thirty people working there, thirty-one if we're being exact. I see a dozen here, and you and I both know that you weren't out there fighting that night. Ten, eleven people against thirty-one. How the fuck do my people all end up dead and yours walk away without a goddamned scratch? But then I remember that most of my people weren't killed with bullets or blades… it was the fire that got them. A few well-placed homemade fire bombs that swept through that satellite compound, flames sucking out all the air and scorching their lungs. Clever, really, only a few left to put up any kind of fight. Grenades would have been too strong a blast, damage the walls, maybe bring the building down. It was just enough to take out the people, just the right amount of force…" Negan let his voice trail off as he tilted his head, raised his eyebrows, until Eugene gave a shaky nod. Negan gave a slight nod in return.

"Were you there that night, Eugene? See your handiwork in person?"

Eugene shook his head, "There was no need, I calculated the ratio of explosive to ignition fuel perfectly from the get-go. Tailor-made, no muss no fuss means of neutralizing the enemy." He stopped himself short, suddenly realizing who he was talking to.

But Negan barked a laugh as he stood up, "No, don't stop or sell yourself short, Eugene! It was creative, a neat solution to your group's troubles. I like clever. I like creative. We need that, building a whole new fucking world out of the ashes and shit left by the old one. You gotta have smart people to make it work."

He turned and addressed the group more fully. "What I can't have, what I Can't. Fucking. Stand… are cowards. Gutless little bitches who stay behind and hide while everyone else risks their lives doing the dirty work. I can't have that at all."

And he brought the bat down on Eugene's head.

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**A brief prologue just to get the ball rolling... all reviews are appreciated!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed! Now, on with the show…**

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Chapter 2: On the Road, Part II

It was one of the bloodiest things Daryl had seen, and for a dirt-poor Georgia redneck who had been gutting kills to feed himself and his family for most of his life, that was saying something. But even with all the corpses, animal and human, that he'd dealt with, there was something uniquely gruesome about Eugene, or what was left of him. His head was completely pulverized, and the squelching sound punctuated by the slamming of the bat against the gravel-paved road underneath the blood and bone had Daryl flinching despite himself. No doubt Negan's borderline maniacal glee as he brought the barbed weapon down again and again had something to do with it. Daryl was slightly ashamed to admit to himself that the horrific scene playing out in front of him was a slight distraction from the throbbing in his shoulder and his knees. _Should be feeling it, fucking deserve it. Smarter than that, supposed to be looking out for folks instead of getting caught in the same damn trap._

But it seemed Negan was finally growing tired, or at least bored, because, after one last downward slam, he let "Lucille" rest (_and what kind of fucking prick named his weapon?_), twisting the end in Eugene's exposed neck before swinging wide, blood and tissue splattering the group with a particularly wide swath of it across Rick's face.

"Would you look at my dirty girl!" Negan crowed, his breath puffing out in visible misty swirls in the chilly night air. _Too cold even for early March, gonna be a slow start to Spring_, Daryl absently mused, using Negan's momentary distraction to shift his weight subtly in an effort to ease the biting pain from the sharp rocks digging into his kneecaps. No way he was going to let this bastard see him shifting and take it for a sign of weakness, even as the move also pulled his shoulder wound open again, blood drops hitting his knuckles, and he grit his teeth to hold back any sound. _Fucking Dwight, should have killed him twice already._ Not a mistake he intended to make again, if he lived through tonight.

But now Negan was turning a circle, eyeing each member of the group. He seemed to ignore those who returned his gaze or kept staring at Eugene's headless body, and settled instead on Rosita, who kept her eyes on the road in front of her rather than on her fallen friend.

Negan stepped right up to her and pushed the bat under her nose, "What's wrong, sweetheart? Oh, was there a thing between you two? Getting a little nerd love from the doc?" He pushed the bat even closer, bits of brain and clumps of hair still clinging to the barbs nearly brushing Rosita's cheek, "I said, take a damn look!"

Daryl snapped. Even as he surged to his feet, he knew it was a stupid move, probably his last. Whatever, he should have died so many times before. Damned if he was going to sit there and let this fucker taunt his family and not do something about it. He was almost as surprised as Negan clearly was when the punch landed, fist connecting solidly with Negan's jaw and knocking the man back several steps. He was not at all surprised to feel a set of arms wrapping solidly around him to pull him back. _Fuck that_. Daryl wasn't going down easily.

But his injured arm was suddenly wrenched back and the pain pulsed through him as if he were being shot all over again. The second's pause was enough for two of Negan's Saviors to wrestle Daryl to the ground, holding his head in a vice grip as he kept struggling against them.

"Nope, no sir, not one bit of that shit flies." He had been addressing the group, but now Negan turned to where Daryl was pinned down, still fighting against the ones holding him there as Dwight brought Daryl's own loaded crossbow to bear.

"You want me to do it? Right here?"

"No!" Negan's shout was almost breathless as he raised his bat in warning. "No." He sauntered closer and grinned as he surveyed the scene. "You don't kill that, not until you try a little first." He waited until Dwight had lowered the crossbow before addressing Daryl directly, "I bet you thought that was real fucking heroic, stepping up, defending the damsel in distress from big, bad Negan. Goddamned knight in shining armor, is that what you are, Daryl? It is Daryl, right? We're all getting to know each other here. Sizing each other up and all that shit. And you want me to know you aren't the kind of pussy that just bends over and takes it because someone else is dishing it out. Hell, I get that. But There. Are. Rules. What did I say? First one's free, but after? I said I will fucking shut that shit down!"

He used the end of Lucille to carefully push strands of hair out of Daryl's eyes, leaving a bloody smear on his forehead before quietly continuing, "You think you're the good guys here? Of course you do, everyone think they're the heroes of the story." Negan suddenly dropped to a crouch – his next words were for Daryl alone. "But if you pull any shit like that again, I will bring Beth out here just to watch you die."

Daryl couldn't help it; he froze in shock. Whatever he had been expecting, that name, _her name_, wasn't it. And from the wide smirk on Negan's face as he leaned further in, he knew it. "Oh. Got your attention with that one, didn't I?"

Daryl just stared back. What else could he do, or say? There was no way for Negan to know of Beth's existence unless he knew _her_. But shocked silence wasn't good enough for Negan, "I said, do I have your attention?"

Daryl gave a terse nod, dropping his gaze for a microsecond before reconnecting with the man towering over him, heaving breaths forced out through his nose as the angle put an awkward strain on his neck. On the edges of his vision, he could see his family shifting uneasily and knew they were straining to hear, but Negan kept his voice so low that not even those closest could pick up on the one-sided conversation. "So here's what's going to happen. You're going to get back in line, and you're going to watch everything that happens next. And you're not going to say one fucking word. You're not going to move one fucking muscle. Not one gesture, not one twitch. Not one motherfucking side-eyed glance to anyone else here. You are going to do absolutely fucking _nothing_, because if you do, the next time you see that blue-eyed angel will be the last time she ever sees you. And she will See. Every. Ugly. Thing. Are we understanding each other?"

He reached out without warning and grabbed Daryl by the hair, jerking his head impossibly closer, adding further strain on his already stretched shoulders. Still, Negan's voice was nearly inaudible, "Do you understand?"

Only Daryl's heavy breathing and Maggie's occasional pain-filled gasps and moans penetrated the silence. The way he was being restrained, Daryl couldn't move, not even to nod, and he knew that's how Negan wanted it. The immobilization forced Daryl to lower his eyes, drop his gaze in a clear sign of submission, a beaten animal acknowledging an alpha.

He half-expected Negan to shove his head down, crack his skull against the road, but the move never came. Instead, Negan eased his fingers through the oily, sweat-soaked strands of hair and patted his cheek as if to say _Good boy_. Daryl would have preferred having his head slammed. Still, he didn't resist as the Saviors dragged him across the ground and forced him back to his knees, pebbles raking angry lines across his arms. Someone half-heartedly draped the blanket back over his shoulders, but Daryl was careful to look nowhere except for the leather boots crunching their way back to the center of the circle.

He knew he should be paying better attention. Someone in his family was probably about to die for his rage-induced carelessness, but all he could think was _Beth._ 826 days. Two years, three months, and twelve days. That's how long it had been since the night he foolishly opened the door to the funeral home and had then watched helplessly as the black car with the white cross drove off into the night. He'd marked each passing day in his mind, and sometimes on his skin, rebranding himself in the once-tender patch of flesh between his thumb and index finger whenever he hit a self-imposed milestone and the grief, regret, and shame became more than his mind could put away. When Beth had taught him to use fire as a way of purging his past, he seriously doubted this was what she'd had in mind, but sometimes the punishing sear of the cigarette against his skin was the only thing he had holding him together. He desperately craved one now, the nicotine to steady his nerves and the pain of the burn a far easier punishment to bear than the thought of Beth being trapped with the likes of Negan for any length of time.

A gasp and high-pitched whine from Maggie pulled Daryl abruptly back to the present moment. Whatever had been wrong with her to bring everyone out here in the first place was getting worse by the minute, and she could no longer fully contain her cries as she curled in on herself in pain. Which, unfortunately, only drew Negan's attention.

"Darlin', I said it before. You look just fucking awful. Abso-fucking-lutely terrible." He crouched down in front of her and brushed the hair from her face in a parody of concern. "I just don't know. Maybe you would be better off if we" he clicked his tongue and twitched a raised Lucille, "knocked you right out of your misery."

Maggie didn't respond, her gasping breaths growing faster and she moved her hands protectively over her flat stomach.

Negan caught the gesture and tipped his head, his gaze serious and considering. "Are you pregnant?" He asked after a moment. A low whine from the back of Maggie's throat was her only acknowledgement that she'd even heard the question, but Negan saw Glenn's restless shifting off to the side and nodded, putting the pieces together. "Oh, you are, aren't you? I'll admit, I did not take as much time with Dr. Tattletale over there as I probably should have. Too focused on _where_ y'all had gotten to instead of _why_ you'd come out here in the first place. But there is definitely a bun in that oven! Although, considering the baby-daddy, I guess it's more of a pot-sticker." He chuckled. "Too racist? I've always had trouble figuring out where the lines are on that kind of thing, what's funny and what gets folks all riled up with political correctness. I do apologize."

Negan's demeanor turned serious, "Yeah, a sick mama and her unborn baby on the line, that'd be about what it would take to get y'all out here. Lemme guess, you were hoping your new friends at Hilltop could help? Is that the kind of thing they promised you for doing their dirty work?" He laughed, "Oh. Damn. Y'all would have been better off riding it out at home, sending a prayer or two to the Big Man upstairs. And not just because of this little get-together. I'll say this much for you sorry fuckers: you sure know how to pick your friends. And your enemies." He took a breath to get his toothy grin back in place, "And baby-daddy over there wasn't even with you," He stayed firmly planted in front of Maggie but turned to get a better look at Glenn, "This must be the shittiest, most fucked-up way ever to find out that your baby might be dying inside your wife's belly." He let out a forceful sigh of air and shook his head. "You thought that was bad, this is really going to suck."

He turned back towards Maggie but his gaze was on the Saviors standing behind her. "Take her to Towers." He grinned widely as they grabbed Maggie by the arms and began hauling her backwards while she weakly struggled. "Gently," he admonished, "Remember, her baby is in distress." But his smirk suggested that he was anything but concerned for her health.

Anticipating a repeat of his earlier outburst, one of the Saviors had already grabbed Glenn by his shirt collar, but that didn't stop him from calling out, "Maggie! Maggie, I'll find you!" If she said anything in reply, it was lost in the shuffle of forcing her into the back of one of the cars, which then drove off, away from the group and in the opposite direction of both Hilltop and Alexandria.

When the sound of the car had faded into the distance, Negan addressed the group solemnly. "Damn. I can see this is hard on you people. I'm sorry. I truly am. But I did say it. I did warn you. No exceptions!" He suddenly burst into a frenzy of energy, striding quickly to grab a fistful Rick's jacket and dragging him backwards before anyone could react.

"Time for a little heart-to-heart, just the two of us. Everyone else stays put. Anyone moves, anyone talks, put a bullet in the kid. Make it a gut shot, though, give Daddy here a chance to say goodbye. If he makes it back."

Negan unceremoniously hauled Rick across the gravel to the RV as the shocked man scrambled and failed to get his feet underneath him.

And through it all, Daryl never looked up.

Something was wrong with Daryl. More than the bloody wound. More than what was wrong with the rest of them, although everyone was in their own personal Hell at the moment. And Tyrese was concerned for everyone there, especially Sasha. Scared the shit out of him, thinking that she might let loose that fiery temper of hers and get herself killed.

Especially Glenn, who looked on the verge of collapse with fear for his now-missing and still-gravely-sick wife and child.

Especially Rosita, who had been closer to Eugene than anyone and had been noticeably shaken by his execution.

Especially Carl, who for all his brash, seen-it-all attitude was still way too young to be part of everything that had happened, was still happening. Eugene had been right next to the teen, and it had taken all that Tyrese had in him to not reach out and shield his gaze when Negan had bludgeoned the man so close to where they both knelt. It was still taking a lot of internal strength to not wipe the bits of blood and brain matter from Carl's face and clothes.

But Daryl was causing Tyrese to worry on a whole other level. As the hours wore on and Negan still hadn't returned with Rick, everyone else had slowly and by degrees sat down and were now resting uneasily. It had taken Abraham the longest. The army soldier took his missions seriously, and even though his quest to get Eugene to Washington D.C. and save the world had been long cast aside, Abraham still clearly saw it as his life's propose to protect the fearful genius, and tonight, he'd failed. And so he'd stayed on his knees in silent vigil, his eyes barely blinking and never leaving the mutilated corpse. When his muscles finally demanded a partial surrender and Sergeant Ford had sat back on his heels, he still never broke from his watch. Even the Saviors standing guard, while definitely alert, were visibly relaxed in the absence of their leader.

Daryl never moved. He was still on his knees, shaking and paler than Tyrese had ever seen him. The blood loss was partly to blame, he knew, and the shock that naturally comes with it, but something else had the tracker frozen in place like one of the deer he regularly hunted. Whatever Negan had whispered in that tense moment, when Tyrese had been sure he was about to lose yet another friend, had rocked Daryl to his core. And for the life of him, Tyrese could not figure out what could possibly have the man so shaken. But whatever it was, whatever threats against their rag-tag family Negan had made (and Tyrese didn't doubt for a second that this was about someone else, Daryl was the most self-sacrificing person he'd ever known), Daryl was locked inside himself, lost and, Tyrese secretly feared, more than a little broken.

There was nothing he could do. The helplessness grated on Tyrese's nerves. It wasn't in his nature to sit back and do nothing while people he cared about were hurting. He knew Rosita couldn't help, too consumed with her own shock and grief. Michonne was on Daryl's other side… but he couldn't catch her gaze. She was honed in on Carl, on the empty spot where Rick had been, and, at any rate, what could she do? Sitting right next to each other, and they all might as well be worlds apart.

Tyrese blamed himself. Everyone here had been on board with going after the Saviors, but it had been Tyrese who figured out the safest way to do it. Not that he'd wanted to fight and kill, that was always the last resort in his mind. But their situation had been desperate, and not even he had seen another way out.

When Aaron and Eric first brought their family to Alexandria's gates, Tyrese couldn't believe places like it still existed. Not that the prison had been anything to scoff at; in the year, almost year and a half they spent there, they'd had the makings of something special. When the Governor brought his new group to the gates, tank and all, Tyrese had just figured such places were done with. He'd done what he could that day, rescuing Judith, Luke, and the two sisters. Even after reuniting with Carol, and later Sasha and everyone else, Tyrese expected it would be one long struggle after another. And the journey North had proved him right, for a while.

But the Alexandria Safe Zone had solar power. Clean Water. Gardens in virtually every back yard. Kids went to school and played in the cul-de-sacs, and it was as if the world inside these walls had just kept on going while everything outside fell apart.

Even the troubles they had faced in Alexandria, losing Deanna Monroe and Rick taking over, the losses when walkers infested their streets and Carl's eye, they hadn't dampened Tyrese's impressions of this place as a haven in the chaos.

No, It was the crops failing. Their second year in Alexandria, right around Judith's third birthday, they realized that almost none of the seeds they planted were sprouting as they should. And the ones that did weren't quite right – overly long stems with virtually no leaves, or weak stems that would flop over after growing a couple of inches. Pale, spindly shadows of their harvest's former glory.

It took them weeks to figure it out. They checked the soil for pests, mold, fungus. They checked the water, the irrigation lines Rick had directed them to install the summer before. They planted again, placing the small seedling starters in different areas of their homes for a change in sunlight. Everything Rick could remember from Hershel's farming lessons back at the prison. Nothing worked.

Frustrated and out of options, Rick had asked where everyone had gotten the plants from when the community had first been established. Spencer's snide retort, "I dunno, from the store," wasn't intended to be helpful, but it had jogged something in Rick's memory.

"You mean like from a do-it-yourself hardware super-store?" he'd asked, and Tyrese remembered the growing realization and dread on Rick's features.

"Yeah. Mom and Dad sent a whole bunch of people with trucks to get as many flats of vegetable plants as they could find. They brought back tons of stuff. Back then everyone was stealing food and weapons, no one wanted fertilizer or garden tools."

"Shit," he'd whispered, wiping his hand over his face. "Full-sized plants, not heirloom seeds. _Fuck_."

"What is so damned wrong? My parents built this place from the ground up, and you were happy enough to move in and eat everything they got growing in the first place." Spencer challenged.

"Hybrids. That's what's wrong. The plants are all hybrids." Rick made eye contact with those who'd been with him at the prison until he was sure they remembered.

"What do you mean by hybrids?" Olivia wondered.

"It means the plants aren't natural, they were genetically modified," Eric had surprised everyone by supplying the answer. "Botanists splice plant genes from different varieties to solve specific problems. Higher yield, brighter colors, longer growing season, drought-tolerant, disease resistant, pretty much anything you can think of."

"Trouble is, those advantages come at a price," Rick added. "The year after all this started, when we started breaking ground for a garden back in Georgia, Hershel, the farmer who taught me, all of us, pretty much everything you'd need to know about raising crops, insisted that he come with us to get the first seeds. It was dangerous for him, and us. He'd lost his leg only a couple of months earlier and couldn't run if things went bad. But he insisted, said this was too important. We needed a mom-and-pop country garden supply store. And seeds, only heirloom seeds. Small local shops tended to have seeds cultivated by local growers. No hybrids, nothing genetically modified. Because hybrid plants don't produce good seeds. The changes are too much for them to pass on reliably to the next generation. If you're lucky, like we've been, you get one, two, maybe three decent years. But each year the plant gets more confused about which traits from each of the spliced-in varieties should be dominant, there's just too much that's been done, and the seeds go sterile. It wasn't a problem back then. Hybrids were cheap to mass-produce, which is why your bigger chain stores tended to carry them. And most people planting a backyard or patio garden weren't saving their seeds from year to year. Why bother, when you can just buy new plants?"

Aaron had looked down at the pale and shriveled seedlings in front of them, "We can't salvage anything from these, can we?"

Olivia frowned as she did some quick mental math, "We can stretch the food supply for a few months if we're really careful, but we went through a lot of inventory this winter. With the walker herds and everything, fresh game was scarce – we ate most of what we'd put away from the last harvest. We can cut back to rations for two meals a day for everyone, and have more communal dinners for portion control and less waste, but we'll still be in trouble by the end of the summer."

"Be in trouble anyway, if we don't get something in the ground real soon. Won't matter how far we stretch things." Daryl pointed out.

Rick nodded, "He's right. We need to double, triple our supply runs even. Different directions. Check yards, small time shops, even look for things growing in the wild."

"Don't go grabbing any random plant just because it's got fruit on it," Denise warned, "The last thing we need is people getting poisoned and we don't even know what it is to be able to cure it."

But then Rick and Daryl had run into Jesus, who introduced them to Hilltop and it seemed like things were going their way once more. The only catch? Gregory's condition. Negan and the Saviors currently laid claim to half the Hilltop's harvest. If Negan was out of the picture, Alexandria could have half the harvest this year, which would give them plenty of heirloom seeds to restore their own gardens, plus open a regular trade between the two communities for future years.

It was too good an opportunity for Rick to pass up. His people knew how to fight, and he had started training those native to Alexandria with a few, like Aaron and Francine, showing real promise. And Gregory had been helpful. He and his people weren't fighters and never had been, but they knew how to keep their ears open. Negan was establishing a new outpost at an old satellite relay station, and he always took a hands-on approach. They didn't have to find his main compound or fight his whole army. Cut off the head of the snake and the body dies, as the old saying goes.

A core group, mostly made up of people they'd known since Georgia, had planned the whole thing in Rick and Michonne's kitchen. Eric had volunteered to take Judith for a play-date with Luke, whom he and Aaron had adopted on Daryl's suggestion (surprising everyone, as he essentially stopped speaking to everyone upon their collective decision to leave his home state).

With sketches made from multiple scouting trips, courtesy of Jesus and Daryl, who had worked unexpectedly well together given their initial meeting and mutually strong preference for traveling solo, the group had a solid impression of the exterior layout and the numbers who regularly resided there.

"Even with all this, we can't just go charging in there," Glenn argued. "We don't know what kind of weapons they have or what the inside of the building is like. There are three of them for every one of us, we'd never make it."

"He's right, we need a way to force everyone out. With only three doors, they'd be bottlenecked. If we take out the watchers on the rooftop with sniper fire and toss in a few grenades," Abraham's military mind was hard at work, "We can position firing squads at each exit."

"Grenades carry too much firepower. Glenn's right, we don't know what's in there. What if they have major artillery or explosives? The blast could end up killing us along with them." Rick pointed out.

"What about a fire?" Tyrese had mused.

"We just said no explosives." Abraham glared, already irritated at having his idea shot down and now further insulted at the notion that someone wasn't taking this as seriously as he was.

"I don't mean anything that strong. Most explosives that would have lasted this long are going to be pretty stable. What about something quick, low heat, just to flash through the halls and spook everyone into running for the doors, but not enough to do any permanent structural damage? It keeps us safe from unintentional explosions and from fighting hand-to-hand inside."

Rick nodded, considering the merits and potential drawbacks. "Eugene?"

"There are a number of compounds that would fit the bill, quick flash-over to ignite the oxygen and then smoke itself out like a snuffed candle. With the right supplies and a place of operation I could definitely build said devices in short order."

The only problem? No one could positively identify Negan. Jesus hadn't discovered Hilltop for himself until 18 months ago, well after Negan had stopped coming as part of the weekly "contribution" runs, as the Saviors called them, delegating everything Hilltop-related to Simon and his preferred team. They'd decided to deal with that on the night of the attack, capturing a select few and interrogating them until they were sure they had either killed Negan or knew where he was hiding.

And it had gone off like clockwork. The afternoon before the attack, a few men from Hilltop had shown up at their gates. Simon had made an unexpected visit to Hilltop and Jesus' absence would have been noted, but they had been under Negan's thumb for years and wanted to help. And they had, volunteering to be the ones who snuck into the satellite outpost's main building and set Eugene's devices. "It will be easier for us to make it out if we're caught," they had explained. Simon had a habit of routinely forcing men from the Hilltop to accompany him on runs to other outposts to do the heavy lifting. They could lie and say that Simon had made them come to bring in supplies. By the time the Saviors realized the lie, the firebombs would be going off, but the Hilltop volunteers knew where they were and knew to run for the exits. "Just don't shoot until you're sure it's not us," they'd joked.

But they'd made it out just fine. Fire had swept through the building just like Eugene said it would, and those who hadn't been caught in the blaze had run outside and straight into their hands. Most been too surprised to return fire until it was too late. As they rounded up the last few wounded survivors, Rick had offered mercy if they turned over their leader. One had stepped forward, back straight and his whole demeanor all but demanding their attention.

"We're only interested in Negan. Are you him?"

The man had smiled grimly, "Yeah, I'm Negan."

And Daryl had put a bolt through his eye.

Everything seemed to work perfectly. So how had it gone so wrong?

Carl was pissed. Shocked and worried and sad, too. But being angry was easier. _Who the Hell did this guy think he was, messing with their family?_ His dad would show him, they'd show them all. And Daryl and Michonne and Glenn and Abraham… their whole family were fighters, and no way were they going to just let this Negan come in and take everything they'd built. No way they'd let the Saviors anywhere near Alexandria, near Judith, or any of the others.

Carl could see it all in his mind, conjured up different versions while the sky slowly brightened in the predawn light. His Dad might have played it safe with the whole group surrounded, but once he and Negan were alone and far enough away… there'd be a fight. And Carl knew firsthand just how far his Dad would go to protect their family. He'd come back, and all these Saviors would be expecting Negan, but Carl knew it would be his Dad. And yeah, Daryl was hurt and Glenn was worried, but once his Dad got here, they'd be up fighting just like always. His Dad would cause a distraction, maybe ram the RV right through the line of armed guards. And once they'd beaten the Saviors and gotten Daryl patched up, they'd track down Maggie at the Towers or wherever it was that Negan said she was being taken prisoner. They'd rescue her and save her baby and bury Eugene and people would be sad, but they would _win_. He could feel the tingle in his fingers from anticipation. He knew he had to be ready at any moment.

But he wasn't ready for Negan hauling his Dad back to his knees, wasn't ready to see his Dad shaking and shocked and not fighting back. Carl wasn't ready for any of that at all.

"Do you even know what that little trip was about, Rick?"

_Why wasn't he fighting? _Carl couldn't understand it. This was it, he could feel that whatever was going to happen was coming on fast, and his Dad was just _there_, on his hands and knees, eyes wide while Negan yelled at him to speak when spoken to, as if his Dad were nothing but a small child or an ill-trained dog.

"It's that look, Rick, that motherfucking defiance, and I can't fucking have it. And I just don't fucking know… Do I give you another chance?"

Rick's nod was shaky and his voice stuttered, "Yeah… okay… okay." _What was he doing? Get up, Negan's right there, just get up!_

But then Negan was calling him over, and it took Carl a moment to react. _Maybe this is what Dad needs,_ he thought as he steadily walked across the stretch of road to stand in front of Negan. _Maybe this is what he was waiting for, needing someone close enough to bring Negan down together…_

And then Negan was pulling his belt off and asking about whether Carl was a southpaw and if the belt tightening around his bicep hurt like it was supposed to. _It did hurt, dammit, but no way was he going to admit that. _And the whole time he stood there, and then laid there looking at his Dad, even as Negan told him what to do, dropped the ax next to him, going on about salami slices and how with their "great doctor" he'd be fine "probably", Carl kept waiting, kept thinking, _any minute now…_

It was his Dad's broken whisper, "It can be me… you… I can go with you, and you can do it to me," that made the teen finally _look_ at Rick, take in the broken, shaking man as if he'd never seen him before, and maybe he hadn't. This man kneeling over him was a stranger. Yes, he'd seen his Dad collapse when his Mom died, seen him beaten and near dead after his fight with the Governor. But this was something else. This was not the man who'd bitten out the throat of one attacker and viciously gutted another to save his son. This was not the man who had confidently declared that Terminus was "fucking with the wrong people" and had them make weapons from the very boxcar that was used to keep them prisoner. This man who sobbed and begged while Negan counted down, slapped him, grabbed his face… Carl didn't know him at all.

And he hated him. It wasn't right, and part of him knew that, but Carl felt a wave of irrational hatred for the pleading, pitiful wreck his father had become. There would be no fight. No uprising. The shattered man with tears and snot dripping through the dried blood on his cheeks couldn't even form words, couldn't reach for a weapon less than an inch from his hand.

"Dad, just do it. Just do it," he whispered, resigned. There was nothing left to be done, nothing to wait for. Might as well get on with it. And Rick clearly wasn't going to get through this without a little encouragement.

He almost pulled his hand away when he felt his Dad's fingers close around his wrist but stopped himself mid-jerk. Negan was right there, and maybe Rick couldn't stand up to him, and maybe Carl couldn't stop him (_yet!_), but he wasn't going to show any kind of fear. And maybe it would remind his Dad, too. _See, Dad, this is how we face things. This is who we are._

When Rick finally picked up the ax, crying out as he raised it, Carl had the sudden urge to look to Michonne. He knew he couldn't look away while Negan hovered, watching, but a steadying look from his friend and surrogate mom would have gone a long way towards calming his nerves. His emotions were at war again, swirling around in his head and heart and gut, and Carl wasn't sure what to hold on to anymore.

Negan stopped the ax before it did any damage, but Carl couldn't find it in himself to be relieved. The price was too high. Above his head, he could hear his father, panicked, hyperventilating, swearing his allegiance, surrendering not just himself, but all of them, to Negan and the Saviors. "…work for you, provide for you... belong to you…"

_The Hell with that_, Carl's anger was back in full force. _Speak for yourself, I don't "belong" to anyone._

Negan stood up triumphant and started making some big speech about how they'd all gotten through this together. Carl took the hint and stayed put. _Fine, "just survive somehow" it is. Just got to get everyone back home and then talk some sense into Dad and anyone else who thinks we should put up with this guy's crap._

But then Negan threw another curveball, "Dwight," he pointed to Daryl with the bloody bat, "load him up." Carl couldn't help turning his head to watch, expecting Daryl to put up some kind of struggle. Instead, the normally surly, badass warrior was unresisting, letting the Saviors pull him to his feet and walking to the open van without an ounce of protest or even so much as a glance at the rest of them on the ground. _What the Hell? _ But the van doors were shut and Negan was back on his haunches next to Rick.

"You see that? He gets it, just like a certain little bitch I know," Negan rubbed Rick's hair in mock affection. "He's got guts. I like him. He's mine now. You forget your fucking place in the world, still want to try something, '_not today, not tomorrow, not today, not tomorrow'_, I will cut pieces off of… fuck's his name?"

"Daryl," one of the Saviors helpfully supplied.

"Wow, that actually sounds right. I will cut pieces off of Daryl and put them on your doorstep. Or better yet, I'll bring him to you and have _you_ do it for me."

Negan tapped his bat on the ground deliberately close to Carl's head as he stood. "You know what?" he said after a moment's consideration. "That one, too. Load him up as well."

This time, it was a surprised Aaron who was hauled to his feet. He looked around wildly as he was pulled towards an open-air military transport before finally meeting eyes with Rick. "Take care of them," he risked calling out as he was pushed into the covered back of the truck.

"It did not escape my notice that, of all the people out here in our little friendship circle, he was the only one to actually be part of Alexandria before you all moved in and started stirring up shit." Negan was back in the center of his own personal arena. "Just like it did not escape my notice that Alexandria sat there all tucked away behind its walls, peace-and-quiet-like, until you people showed up out of nowhere. So I don't know what kind of fucked-up shit went down, but I need ALL of Alexandria to be on board. Oh yeah, Mullet Man over there might have been awkward as fuck, but he was downright _eager_ to share _everything_ he knew about _all_ his friends, and, for that, he gets the spirit award for sure!"

Negan strolled back over to stand next to Rick. "I'm going to leave you a truck, assuming you people have figured out bio-diesel by now with Dr. Smarty-Pants and all but if not, well, at least it's a convenient place to store shit. Out of curiosity, who was my new friend so concerned about just now?"

Rick paused until Negan prompted him again, "Really, Rick?"

"He… he has a family. A son. Just a kid."

Negan gestured to Carl with the bat, "He's just a kid, but with some serious brass balls."

Rick shook his head, "Aaron's son is only six."

"Well, shit, that is one Hell of a rough conversation you're about to have, explaining all this to him. Of course, it could be a lot fucking worse. And Rick, remember, it _can_ always get worse. We'll be by in a week to pick up your first offering. Welcome to a brand-new beginning, you sorry shits!" was his parting shot as the Saviors drove off and left them in stunned silence.

_Well, if Dad's not going to do something about this, then I will_.

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**Thanks to everyone who's tagging the story to follow... now how about leaving a little review?**


	3. Chapter 3

**I'm not big on long author's notes, but I feel it's necessary to explain the timing discrepancy between the show and my story. The show has, until this season, been deliberately vague about how much time was passing. They were trying to reconcile sticking to the comics with the fact that their child actors (especially Chandler Riggs/Carl) were growing up and attempted to split the difference by never saying exactly how old Carl was supposed to be and by repeatedly recasting the babies playing Judith to keep her from aging, which, to me, made things far more complicated than they had to be. But Season 9's time jumps locked the earlier seasons into a timeline that's pretty close to the comics.**

**TV Timeline**

**Year 1: Rick wakes up to apocalypse in late spring/early summer; by fall, Hershel's farm is gone.**

**Year 2: Judith's born in the prison, both Governor attacks, the prison falls. Late fall/early winter, they're back together and arriving at Alexandria.**

**Year 3: Carl loses his eye, Jesus shows them Hilltop, and Negan's reign begins. **

**Since Carl was ten years old when the apocalypse began, this makes Carl twelve, **_**maybe**_** turning thirteen. Judith is just over a year old.**

**Hero of his Own Story Timeline**

**Year 1: same as show**

**Year 2: Judith is born and the Governor attacks the first time, and disappears. Rick brings in the Woodbury survivors and they build a working farm that gets everyone through the winter.**

**Year 3: Everything's good until the summer, when the Governor attacks again and the prison falls. Everyone spends a couple of months in splintered groups. Late fall, Beth is taken from Daryl. The group reunites at Terminus. They head north and arrive at Alexandria just as winter sets in. **

**Year 4: After several months of trying to do things Deanna's way, Rick takes leadership of ASZ; walkers invade, Carl loses his eye.**

**Year 5: Alexandria's crops fail, making the group search for new food sources; Jesus introduces Hilltop; outpost attack at the end of the year, group assumes that Negan is dead (see Tyrese's thoughts in Ch. 2).**

**Year 6: Group rides out the winter with Hilltop's help, but the Saviors never stopped their weekly supply runs, so everyone knew the fight wasn't over. Chapter I begins in early March.**

**This makes Judith close to her 4****th**** birthday and Carl 15, turning 16 sometime later in the year.**

**More importantly for the story's purposes, ****these communities are not the same as what we saw in the show.**** The show's versions of ASZ, the Sanctuary, etc. were barely getting off the ground. With additional years, everyone is now established, ways of living will have evolved. One example of this were the backyard gardens described in Chapter 2. They didn't exist in the show. But there's no way that Alexandria (or any community) survived beyond the first couple of years without creating sustainable food sources. Likewise, relationships between communities, and the expansion of territories, would have changed and grown over time. **

**Long story short, changes in setting or people's behavior, personality, etc. are not meant to be out of character, but rather a reflection of the extended timeline.**

**And, yes, I know this is way too technical for something as trivial as a fanfiction, but if we all weren't super-crazy about how seriously we take **_**The Walking Dead**_**, there wouldn't be any fanfiction in the first place :)**

* * *

Chapter 3: Arrival

_Dear Luke,_

_I love you and Daddy so much and I'm so sorry I'm not there with you right now. Tell Daddy not to worry; I'm okay. It's been a strange first few days, but I'm settling in and making friends. Things here are a lot different from home, but just because something is different doesn't mean it can't be good. Since coming here was such a surprise, I wasn't quite sure what to expect…_

The canvas-covered truck bed might have been letting in the cool morning breeze, but it was hot and stuffy under the bag that had been secured over Aaron's head once he was forced into the back of the transport. With his hands zip-tied behind him, there was little he could do but sit still and try to calm his breathing as they bounced down on the highway; the vehicle's suspension was in desperate need of had no idea if Daryl was being taken to the same location, if Maggie was already there or if she was even alive, or if Negan would change his mind and add even more hostages to his growing collection. The others in the truck with him mostly kept quiet, occasionally mumbling comments to each other that Aaron couldn't decipher.

After what felt like hours, the truck slowed to a stop, breaks squealing, but Aaron couldn't make out any of the words being exchanged in a muffled conversation at the front of the vehicle before it abruptly started moving again, going several more yards before maneuvering into its final destination. The truck bed bounced as the Saviors dismounted, the last ones grabbing Aaron on either side and pulling him along. It was only with their help that he didn't fall; the hood kept him blind as they moved across what felt like gravel to a smooth concrete, where the air around him changed and sounds closed in – signs they'd moved indoors. An awkward stumbling trip down a flight of stairs and a series of hallways that Aaron knew he'd never remember later, they stopped and the hood was pulled back from his face.

Aaron didn't know what he'd been expecting: a military bunker, or a series of cells in an underground dungeon maybe? Clean sunlight filtered through a row of windows along the top of a long, low-ceilinged room the length of a basketball court with pristine white subway tiles going at least seven feet up the painted cinder block walls and across the entire floor. Along the two longer walls and the short one at the far end of the room, six-feet high tiled divider walls separated the space into individual shower and changing stalls, with heavy cloth curtains in multiple colors providing additional privacy. Some were in use, steam rising behind the closed curtains and the occasional glimpse of a head or bare arms above the dividing walls.

The zip tie was cut from his wrists and he was nudged towards an open stall. On closer inspection of the space, he could see that the shower space was divided in two; a low tiled lip on the floor and a second curtain to keep the water contained and out of an outer changing area, which was furnished with a metal stool. Mounted on the wall under the shower head was a metal basket with a bar of handmade soap.

A worn towel and washcloth were shoved into his unsuspecting hands. "Five minutes. Strip and scrub yourself or we'll do it for you. Leave your clothes on the stool."

Aaron stood, frozen and uncertain, behind the hastily-closed curtain before mechanically beginning to remove his clothes. _Just survive somehow, as Enid says. You don't know when you'll get the chance to be clean again._ The water smelled a bit of minerals and, when he used some to rinse out his mouth, it tasted faintly of sulphur. The entire time he hastily showered, he kept expecting the curtain to be yanked aside, to be dragged out to whatever ridicule or pain Negan had in store, but he finished his shower in uneasy solitude. When he stepped back into the changing area, his clothes were gone, replaced with a used but serviceable set of hospital scrubs and nondescript tennis shoes in his size. Seeing nowhere obvious to put the used washcloth or towel, he bundled them together and took them with him as he slid the outer curtain aside.

The two Saviors were waiting by the door, with one using a head nod to indicate that he should follow. Aaron fell in step behind them. The hallways were dimly lit compared to the shower room, but still clean with fresh paint on the concrete walls and railings as they made a series of turns and up a flight of stairs.

The last corridor was wider than the others, with small clusters of chairs along one wall and four doors stretching down the length of the other. The nearest was open and the guards nodded for Aaron to enter what turned out to be a fully-stocked and well-organized medical exam room. "All yours, Doc," one of the called out to the room's sole occupant before going back the way they came.

Again, whatever Aaron had been expecting, this wasn't it. Petite frame with long blonde hair neatly tied in a twisting French braid that rested over her shoulder, the "Doc" looked more like a child playing dress-up than a medical professional. But the scars on her cheek and over her brow bore testament to past battles and her confidence moving about the room was proof enough that she was clearly in her element. Her smile was genuine as she welcomed him into the room and gestured for him to sit on the exam table.

"Just toss those in the bin and we'll get started," she used a clipboard to gesture towards a waist-high industrial laundry cart along the wall and stepping out into the hallway to flip the sign on the door. She walked back over to stand in front of Aaron, who was perched awkwardly on the edge of the padded table, grabbed an expensive-looking pen from her pocket.

"Name?" She asked in her deep Southern drawl.

He hesitated before physically shaking his head as if to clear his thought, "Ah, Aaron. Raleigh. Aaron Raleigh."

Her nibbed fountain pen hovered over the page, which, from what Aaron could observe from upside down was a hand-written copy of some kind of medical information form.

"You have no earthly idea what's going on, do you?"

He shook his head, "I'm sorry, Doctor…um… ma'am, I—"

She held out a hand to stop him, "Just Doc, Mr. Raleigh, everyone here calls me Doc. Breathe. Calm down. This is my medical wing and my exam room, so when I say you're safe here, it's because you are."

"Okay, just Aaron, then. All this is yours, huh?"

Her voice was soft and pleasant, and Aaron found himself slowly relaxing despite his stomach still being a churning bundle of nerves, "Well, technically Dr. Carson has seniority and more experience, but he's only here when he absolutely has to be, so as long as everything is running smoothly, it's pretty much mine to do as I please. Even Negan himself has to behave when he comes in here."

"How does that work?" He didn't even realize he'd asked the question aloud until he saw the subtle shift in her demeanor. Her posture went from relaxed to near-battle-ready and the pleasant expression on her face turned hard, though she never raised her voice.

"I tell him to do something, and he does it." Her tone left no room for argument.

_Oh, when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd! And though she be but little, she is fierce. _The Shakespeare quote popped in his head unexpectedly but he thought he'd never met a person it fit better_._ "You're a little terrifying when you want to be."

Thankfully, she laughed, and the sweetness returned easily to her smile, "Years of practice. Wish it still worked on my younger daughter. Not even two years old and she's already completely unfazed by the 'Mom' look."

_Okay, so definitely older than she looks if she's got more than one kid._

But she was already back in business mode, "So, what's going to happen is that I'm going to do a basic exam. It's the same thing we do for everyone new. And then I'll show you where you'll be working, and we'll just kinda go from there. When I told Negan I was short-handed, this is not the solution I had in mind, but all we can do is take it as it comes and make the best of it, yes? Hey," she put a comforting hand on his knee, "you're gonna make it, alright? You're gonna be just fine."

He nodded shakily, eyes still welling up despite his best efforts, "Yes, ma'am."

"Doc."

"Doc. Sorry, Southern upbringing can be hard to shake."

She gave his knee a quick but gentle squeeze before letting go. "No worries, I still hear my Mama's voice in my ear if I even get half-way to cursing. _Language, young lady!"_

There was an unspoken agreement between the two to get back to business, and she moved efficiently through the steps of the physical while they talked.

"I guess I should probably tell you, my last name is actually Slowikowski. Raleigh is my boyfriend's surname but, when we adopted our son, we decided one family name was enough and, since no one ever manages to spell or say mine right…"

She laughed and made the addition on the intake form. "Boyfriend? Not husband?"

"Well, no, I mean, we can't." At her raised brow he continued, "It's, ah, it's illegal for us to get married."

"Says who?"

Aaron was stunned silent for a moment. _Oh._ It's not as if he didn't know the old world and its legal system was done with. Everyone was always so focused on surviving in a lawless world, it just had never occurred to him or Eric what else that might mean for them. _Brave new world, indeed._ "So, people here, like me, if they…"

"Anyone who wants to get married, gets married. If they want a church service, they have one. If they don't, they don't. Making it official is as simple is going to the housing officers and registering for an apartment together. Maybe going to the labor officers to request that work shifts be on the same schedule so they have more free time together. Folks here are, well, let's just say more open-minded about what marriage can look like. Serious, mind you, there are rules about staying committed, about custody if you divorce and there's children involved. Punishments for cheating. But no one cares who gets married as long as they're old enough and they're happy."

"So," she rubbed her hands together and abruptly changed the subject, "A little blood-work and you're all set."

"You can do blood-work here?"

"Basic tests. Anything real complicated we send down to a community in North Carolina. They managed to keep a university hospital up and running and have a lot fancier equipment. But we can handle some things, blood sugar, nutrition issues, pregnancy, things like that." A slight pinch of the needle and the awkward pause of waiting for the glass vile to fill with blood, and Aaron was sliding off the exam table and following the Doc down the hall and around the corner.

"So, what you'll be doing while you're here is helping out with assisted living, older folks who need a lot of help with the day-to-day stuff. Most of them have family who look after them when they're not working, but a couple of them live in the hospital wing full-time."

"How many elderly do you have here?" They had reached the end of the short corridor and stopped in front of a closed door. Aaron sensed he was about to be left alone and was suddenly desperate to keep around the one friendly face he'd found.

"There's eight now. Six with families who only come down during the day and two who stay." Her smile was kind and knowing. "Jeffrey is the head nurse here, and he'll get you settled in. He's very good, this is what he did before the Turn, so he knows what he's doing. But it's still my hospital wing, understand?" It wasn't spoken as a threat, but rather as a reminder. _You're safe here._

Still, he grasped at any questions he could think of to stall, "What do I do after?"

"When the day's over, someone will show you where you'll stay when you're not working."

"How long?" It was a loaded question. _How long is the work day? How long will I be a prisoner here?_

She grabbed his hands in hers, "It's gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay." The physical contact was steadying him more than her words. She seemed to sense that and sighed. "I know, it's hard to believe. This whole place was hard for me to take in when I first got here, and I walked in the front gate by my own choosing."

He nodded, "It is a little overwhelming. You've been wonderful, really. And I'm grateful, please, please know that. I'm just… it's like you said, it's a lot to take in. I guess I'm just used to being on the other side is all."

She cocked her head a bit in open curiosity, "Other side?"

"At Alexandria, one of the things I did was look for survivors, people out on their own, and invite them in. A kind of recruiting, I guess. We'd show them pictures, explain what our community's like, help them settle in if they decided to come with us. A lot of them, if they had been out in the open for a while, they'd get overwhelmed, not quite believing what they saw at first, or know what to do once they were inside the safe zone. I guess I'm just used to being the one to calm people down, not be the one who needs the calming."

She nodded, her lips pursed together as she thought before coming to a decision and dropping her voice to make sure the conversation stayed between the two of them. "Alright. I want you to think of it this way, then. You're here recruiting. It's like, how all you know about us is what you saw Negan do last night, but now you know me, and I'm not so bad, am I?"

Aaron couldn't help but smile at the small but determined woman.

"Okay, then. All anyone here knows about Alexandria is that y'all were a quiet community who kept to themselves until you one day up and decided to attack us and killed our friends. And as long as that's all they know, there's no reason for anyone not to believe Negan when he says this is the only way to keep everyone here safe. _You show them different._ Everything you say, everything you do, you put your best face on and your best foot forward. The more people get to know you, the more they get to know the real Alexandria, the more pressure gets put on Negan to back down, go easier on your friends and family back home."

_Friends._ Aaron's mind flashed back to the group who'd tried to get Maggie to Hilltop. _I guess it's time to see if she's as much of a friend as she seems to be_, "Doc, when I came here, were there others? Negan took two more of us."

She shook her head, "Only you and one other person came here. The other man was injured, Dr. Carson was assigned to treat him. But no one else came in. I'll ask around. Meantime, you'd best get in there. Go recruit."

Aaron nodded and turned to walk into the next room when the Doc offered one final bit of advice, "If you're looking for a good place to start, I'd make friends with Savannah and Trish. Savannah's one of the nurses, usually works afternoons. Trish just had her baby, so she's not working, but she tends to keep Savannah company, and the older patients love having a baby around. But more importantly for you, they're both Negan's wives."

"Wives? Uh, more than one?"

"Yep." And while her smile stayed pleasant, there was something that flashed in her eyes that let Aaron know there was more to the story than she was letting on.

Aaron nodded and took a moment to wrap his brain around the idea. "Right, marriage is an open concept around here. Got it."

She grinned and nodded towards the door, "Go get 'em."

And he had. Aaron had walked in with his shoulders back, chin up, a pleasant smile, and a willing attitude, and the hours had passed easily enough. He'd listened to Jeffrey and the other nurses as they showed him how to move, feed, and otherwise care for the needs of the elderly patients. He'd chatted with each one, trying to commit to memory particular details both of their personal lives and their individual needs. He'd even held Trish's newborn baby girl for a few minutes (a button-nosed beauty with a full head of black hair named Kelly Rose, though with all the names he'd learned today, Aaron fully expected to forget half of them by morning). And as the light shifted to warmer sunset hues, family members trickled in to pick up their loved ones and Aaron had watched, stepping up to introduce himself if it seemed they were curious and respectfully slipping into the background if their gazes were more guarded. When only the two full-time residents of the wing were left and the night-shift nurse had checked in, Jeffrey had been the one to escort Aaron down to a room with brass numbers 138 screwed onto the door.

"This is you," the balding, slightly heavy-set man had explained, holding the door open for Aaron to step through the threshold. It was one room, furnished like a studio apartment, with a full-sized bed taking up half the floor space, a small couch and end-table with a lamp under high-set windows, and a kitchenette lining the back wall.

"Most of the apartments are on the upper floors. But with your situation and you being assigned full-time to medical, I guess it made more sense to put you on the first floor." Jeffrey started puttering around, opening drawers as Aaron stood by and watched. "Looks like they've already got you set up with a standard week's worth of food rations. Sheets, bath towel, three sets of clothes, couple sets of scrubs for when you're working. Scrubs you can drop in the medical laundry whenever you like, but everything else goes in the laundry bag with your apartment number stamped on it. Wash is once a week, on Saturdays for first floor, costs two points per person, just set the bag outside your door that morning and it'll be back when you get off work."

"Points?" Aaron was confused.

"Everything here is on a point system. Each half-day shift earns five points. The first set of clothes and food is on the house, but anything you need after that, you'll pay with points. You'll get a log book to keep up. My advice, don't get behind. Penalty for going over on your points isn't worth it. See you bright and early, morning shift starts at 7."

And with that, Aaron was left alone. He'd thought he'd welcome the solitude, but the silence was unnerving. And all at once, it hit him. The road, Eugene, being dragged away from his family. He'd gone a day and a night and a full day again without sleep or much in the way of food, but he couldn't process enough to try eating now. Instead, he reached for the doorknob and punched the lock button with his thumb (a prison where the door locked from the inside was just one more in the laundry list of strange things he'd encountered today). Ensured a bit of privacy at last, Aaron sat on the edge of the bed, put his face in his hands, and sobbed.

* * *

Daryl was going to lose his mind. He had no idea how long he'd been in the dark room where the walls seemed to close in by the second. The air stank of sweat despite the cold and damp. He'd tried to keep track of how long he'd been here, but the light coming under the door was always on and guard changes had no set pattern he could pick out.

It didn't help that he'd passed out shortly after their doctor had started poking at his gunshot wound. That'd been the final straw. After hours of slowly bleeding while kneeling on the road, then being forced to stay on his hands and knees in the back of the van, it had taken nearly all the strength he had left in him to walk into the small exam room, three Saviors keeping their weapons handy, though not pointed directly at him.

It had been Dwight who ordered him to strip while they waited for the doctor. "All of it." But Daryl had already mentally prepared himself for the humiliation and pain he'd known was coming eventually, so he didn't let himself hesitate and tried his best to keep stoic about the fact that his shitty childhood was about to be put on display. He barely managed to keep a smirk to himself when he surprised at least one of his captors by dropping his pants first. Thankfully, the doctor had come in while he was peeling the bloody shirt from his shoulder and had almost immediately stood behind him to start debriding and bandaging the open wound. Then his vision was fading and, when he woke up, it was in darkness, so, as long as he didn't think too much about how he'd gotten to his cell, the embarrassment wasn't as bad as it could have been.

He'd been fed twice though not enough to stave off the hunger pains in his gut, but that might have been as much about the emotion-laden memories as it was physical discomfort.

He'd recognized the filling between the stale slices of bread for what it was when Dwight had shoved the dog-food sandwich under his nose. When he was five years old, Daryl's mother had once broken the old man's rule about not taking charity from the "no-good churchy bitches" who offered canned goods from food drives to those in need. But she had gotten desperate and had quickly taken whatever she could from the box behind the Southern Baptist church near their trailer park. His old man had come in from a liquor run to find her on her knees trying to hide the cans in the bottom kitchen cupboard. He'd grabbed a large one with the label ripped off and slammed the shiny aluminum down on her hand before telling her to cook up whatever was inside. Daryl remembered his father's raucous laughter when his mom had finally managed to open the can with her trembling, injured hand only to discover it contained dog food. Old Will Dixon had made them choke down full bowls of the ground mush before taking his belt to both of them, his mom for daring to defy his warped sense of pride, and Daryl just because he could. Daryl knew that Dwight and whoever else was guarding him had no way of knowing that, but it didn't make swallowing with a straight face any easier. At least the second sandwich had also come with a set of clothes, a dingy, sour-smelling sweatshirt that was ridiculously large on him and sweatpants that were high-water even if he wore them low on his hips, but at least they provided a layer of protection from the concrete floor and walls.

But the time crawled between distractions and, the longer he was stuck with his own thoughts, the more twisted they became. Past memories swirled with imagined horrors – normally, Daryl could stave off the worst of his dark musings by getting lost in physical labor, but now, he had no means of escape. And given his reasons for letting himself be locked up here without a fight, it was no surprise that most of his thoughts centered on Beth. Every time he tried to focus on the happier memories of their weeks as an unlikely pair on their own against the world, his mind would stubbornly return to the day he'd given up searching for her.

"_The hell can you say that? The hell can you even think it?" Daryl was furious and wanted no part of Rick's calming hand on his shoulder. He aggressively shrugged him off and pushed away to put more space between them as they stood just beyond the tree line of the woods near the church where their group had taken refuge after their harrowing experience at Terminus. The bodies of the hunting party that had pursued them from the train yard were in a haphazard pile not far from where the two men argued._

"_Daryl, calm down. Look, you've got to listen – "_

"_No, you listen! Beth's out there. She's family! We don't even know these people, and you're gonna follow some strangers up to fucking D.C. for no goddamned reason! Risk our family, __your __kids__, for what? Some pipe dream you already know ain't real."_

_Daryl had turned away then, the emotions becoming too much for him to be comfortable facing anyone. The idea of giving up on Beth was unthinkable, and Rick's objective, rational stance about the whole thing was only pissing him off more._

"_She's gone," Rick's voice was quiet but confident. "You said it yourself. Beth is gone."_

"_She ain't dead." Daryl's voice and certainty matched Rick's. "She's strong. She don't look it, but… You don't know."_

_He could hear Rick shifting behind him, knew he was about to offer some logical, well-reasoned argument for abandoning the search for Beth, but Daryl'd had enough. He was tired of holding back his pent-up frustration and worry, and Rick with his cool, calm, collected attitude was as good a target as any._

"_She's the mother of your child," Daryl whipped around aggressively and got inches from Rick's face. "You thought of that? Beth is the only mother that Lil' Asskicker has ever known. The only one who was there for late-night feedings, diaper changes, singing her to sleep, getting her through teething and fevers, calming her down when no one else could. Lovin' her when you could barely stand to look at her, much less hold her. You think that was easy for Beth? Bein' a mama to a child that wasn't hers? Weeks and months when Jude didn't want nothin' to do with anyone else but her. The fuck does that say about you, just givin' up on someone who gave her whole life to your little girl, someone who never once gave up on us?"_

"_Alright." Rick put his hands up in surrender and stepped back, taking a breath, choosing his words. "You're the best tracker I've ever known. So you look at me and tell me you can find her, that you've got a plan. We'll all go. You look me in the eye and you tell me you can get us back to the last place you saw her, that there's a crushed leaf, a broken twig that says 'this is the way they went', and we'll follow you. We'll do it together. You tell me you can do that, after however long it's been, and we'll do it."_

_Daryl's breathing got heavier and more erratic as Rick logically laid out the truth of their situation._

"_Seventeen days. It's been seventeen days since they took her." Daryl spoke more to the ground than to Rick, the fight gone out of him for the moment. _

_Rick stepped forward but wisely kept his hands to himself. "Daryl. Brother." He paused to gather his thoughts, to prepare himself the way he'd done as a sheriff's deputy delivering impossible news to hopeful family members. "She's gone. Beth is gone. I know you don't want to hear it. I don't want to say it. You found… something… out there, the two of you. I don't pretend to understand it. Maybe you don't either. You can tell me, if you want to talk—" Daryl's derisive snort cut Rick's offer short. "It's been seventeen days. And it's not as if she's a kid who wandered off in the woods somewhere. She was taken – "_

"_She ain't a kid," Daryl objected._

"_I know that," Rick acknowledged. "She was a beautiful young woman. And you know what kind of sick bastards are out there. Were out there long before all this. And what they'd do to a young, pretty girl given half a chance. And however strong she might have been on the inside, she's not physically able to fight off someone our size, and that's assuming there was only one person in that car." Rick raised his voice above the hushed tones they'd been using, in part, at least, to give Daryl the illusion of privacy as the man's shoulders started to shake and he bit his lip to keep back any sobs. "It is an awful thing, and God forgive me for saying it. But I hope Beth died sixteen days ago."_

"_Fuck you," Daryl snarled darkly. "Fuck…" he turned away to stop himself from punching Rick in the jaw for even thinking something like that, and also for the tears that were streaming down his face by this point. No way he was going to show that even to the man he called Brother. _

"_I hope she went fighting," Rick continued, "but more than that I hope she went quick. For her sake, for everything she was to our family, to Judith, I hope she didn't suffer. I hope she's at peace now, with Hershel, with her mother and brother. I hope, wherever she is, she knows what she meant to all of us, and that part of her will always be with us." Rick's hand was back on his shoulder, a tentative touch, but what Daryl really, desperately craved in that moment were too-skinny arms locked around his waist and a bony chin jutting under his shoulder blade. Beth was the only one he had ever truly trusted with his tears._

_The silence stretched for several minutes before Rick tried a different approach, "There's nothing for us here. The days are getting shorter and we can't stay. We need to find a place, for Judith and the others. And I need you. Carl and Judith won't make it without you hunting for us. I can keep them safe, maybe, but I can't put food in their bellies. I never could," he confessed ruefully. "Please, Daryl. Please. Help me keep my children alive."_

"_Fine." Daryl wiped his face and picked up his crossbow, which he didn't even remember dropping. Only then did he turn to face Rick. "But you're wrong."_

They headed North the next morning and Daryl never spoke another word about Beth to their group. Carol and Rick both tried occasionally, trading off walking beside him and attempting conversation, but Daryl was having none of it. He did what was needed, scouting ahead, finding fresh game when he could, but whatever closeness he'd built, whatever walls he'd let down to open himself up to the idea of family, was gone. It was the only way he could keep putting one foot in front of the other, keep walking away when all he wanted was to turn around.

He'd held himself together right up until he saw the signs, white letters on a bright blue billboard, "South Carolina Welcomes You". He turned back; sure enough, on the other side of the highway, "Welcome, We're Glad Georgia's On Your Mind" with a brightly colored peach emblazoned next to the state name. _Ain't never been outta Georgia before_. The memory of their moonshine-induced "never-have-I-ever" game seared through him, swiftly followed by her now-prophetic proclamation, _You're gonna miss me so bad when I'm gone._

Daryl walked off the road without a word to the group. He'd gone straight into the woods, far enough into the trees that he couldn't see anything else around him, dropped to his hands and knees, and retched. Eating hadn't been high on his priority list since Terminus (not that there was much food to go around even if it had been), and the bile burned his throat as he spat it onto the ground. He was sobbing, shaking, completely falling apart, and kept dry-heaving long after his stomach had emptied.

The sun had sunk halfway below the horizon before he managed to drag himself to his feet and stumble drunkenly back to the road. From there it was an easy bit of tracking to find the group holed up in the abandoned South Carolina Welcome Center at the rest stop, Rick dutifully standing watch outside the door. Rick tried to reach out to offer both a bit of food and comfort, but Daryl side-stepped him and wordlessly waved him back inside. Standing watch alone all night, Daryl had lit one of the few cigarettes remaining in a pack Beth had gleefully presented him on one of their last finds before the funeral home. He'd stared at the smoldering embers and, without thinking, had pressed the fiery end against the tender flesh of his left hand at the juncture between his thumb and index finger. He hadn't quite known what to expect. Pain, of course. But the release that came with it was almost cathartic. With the sizzle and foul stench of scorched skin also came her words whispered on the wind, _You gotta put it away, Daryl. Put it away, or it kills you._

That night, and every time since that he couldn't bear the weight of her absence, he'd slipped into the woods and practiced his self-destructive ritual, each time hoping it would somehow be what he needed to put his past failings behind him, always knowing deep down it wouldn't last.

Sitting in the dark cell of Negan's stronghold, Daryl knew the truth. He'd abandoned Beth. Whatever Rick's logic or Daryl's good intentions for protecting their family might have been, he'd known in his heart and gut, with everything in him, that she had been out there, alive, and he'd left her to fight alone. Of all the bad choices he'd ever made, this was, by far, the worst thing he'd ever done. And there was no putting it away, no punishment he could suffer, to ever make up for whatever horrors he'd left Beth to face by herself. Even now, whatever Negan decided to do to him, Daryl knew it would never be enough.

* * *

Aaron could not get over the number of children in this place. Three days in, and every time he turned around, it seemed there were more of them. Little ones especially, infants and toddlers with almost every family at the midday communal meal.

He'd missed lunch on the day he'd arrived. (He tried to keep positive thoughts by rephrasing his experiences in his mind – arrived instead of captured, apartment instead of cell, neighbors instead of guards – it was a mildly-successful mind trick). But the next day, his eyes had been opened to the staggering odds his family back home were facing if they tried to fight the Saviors again. At noon, all non-essential work stopped and everyone ate a communal meal with their families, no points needed. The entire ground floor of the factory-turned-Sanctuary traded out its market stands for rows of long tables and benches like a strange blend of backyard barbeque meets high school cafeteria.

And every seat was taken – nearly 500 men, women, and children filling the space with a cacophony of sound, forks scraping plates, children chattering to their parents about what they'd learned in school that morning, plastic trays hitting each other as people dropped off empty plates and cutlery at the rolling carts near the doors, where kitchen workers would later pull them to be washed and prepped for the next day. Aaron had frozen mid-step when he saw it for the first time. Alexandria had 73 people, including the eleven children (if Carl still and Enid still counted as children) spread throughout their walled-in subdivision. The Sanctuary had more than double that number in children alone. _And this is just one of Negan's bases. His biggest one, but who knows how many outposts there are, and how many live at each one? How are we supposed to fight back against all these people? And why didn't Hilltop tell us what we were really up against?_

And the food was good. Aaron was man enough to give credit where it was due, and any outsider would be thrilled to settle at the Sanctuary on the basis of this meal alone. It was simple fare – the first day had been a hearty salad with thin slices of roasted pork, and today's meal was a thick vegetable stew with some kind of whole grain bread – but filling and flavorful, more than what he'd had at Alexandria in months (and that wrenched a guilty twist in his stomach as he thought of Eric and Luke barely scraping by on whatever Hilltop was able to spare). And tea. Both days, tea had been served with sweet and earthy flavors Aaron couldn't quite identify.

Part of his new job, Aaron had learned, was to get the patients wheeled to the staircase and help carry them down to the ground level to join the group for lunch. Their family members often took over from there, except for the two who had no living relatives; Aaron was expected to eat with them both to help and keep them company. Aaron didn't mind. People stared, of course, when he showed up the first day. But that was to be expected, and Aaron took his "recruiting mission" seriously, making sure to be his most pleasant and agreeable self no matter how much the attention might have otherwise unnerved him. _Everything you're doing helps Eric and Luke._ Plus, being in the main room gave him time to sweep his eyes around in search of Daryl or Maggie. So far, though, he'd had no luck finding either of them.

His two constant lunch companions were not always the best conversationalists, but Aaron hadn't built a friendship with the surliest redneck in Alexandria on luck alone. Mrs. Abbott (and no, they were not on a first name basis, that would be terribly improper, or so she'd informed him) was a 76-year-old who'd never married or had children, but she was an independent soul who had fought to stay alive as best she could until Alzheimer's had hit her hard, leaving her frequently confused and forgetful, making it impossible for her to live alone. Father Donovan might have been a few years older, but his mind was as sharp as ever; a stroke had left him with partial paralysis and a feeding tube, which kept him bound to the hospital wing. His lack of family stemmed from his vows as a Catholic priest, but what he lacked in blood relatives, he made up for in parishioners. Two in particular, twin brothers close to Aaron's age whose Irish accents had caught him off-guard when he first heard them praying with the bedridden priest, were at the old man's side whenever they weren't working. Aaron found them to be good company, easy to talk to and eager to share what they knew when he asked questions.

"Everyone contributes," Connor, who was decidedly calmer and, Aaron thought to himself, more mature than his fraternal twin, explained when Aaron had inquired about the number of children. "One of the more interesting side-effects of the Rules."

Murphy took over, chewing his food around his words, "Aye, fucking amazing what they can cover."

"Um, no one's actually told me anything about any rules."

The brothers had shared a look before turning back to Aaron, decidedly more serious than a moment ago. "Well, that's something you definitely need to know. You'd be punished for breaking them whether you know them or not." Connor gestured with his eyes to someone off to the side, a Savior whose name Aaron had yet to learn but was easily recognizable for the heavy burn scars over half his face. There were several with similar marks throughout the dining hall.

"So, there are plenty of small rules that are more like guidelines, common courtesies, procedures, that sort of thing. And then there are the Rules. Fuck around with them, well, it had better be worth dying for. 'Cause that's a real fucking possibility."

Murphy nodded sagely, "The Iron, at the very least. They're simple enough to remember, even the little ones can say them by heart." He held up his open hand and counted down beginning with his pinky, "We don't lie. We don't cheat. We don't steal." He turned his hand forward, the index finger in a clear "number 1" shape, "We don't harm each other." Now only his thumb stuck out, "We respect everyone." Closed fist, "And everyone contributes."

Connor picked up where his brother left off, "Straightforward enough on the surface, yes? But then you get to thinking, and you realize that for a few little phrases, they apply a shit-ton of possibilities. No cheating sounds a lot like 'Thou shalt not commit adultery', and it is. But it can also mean, 'don't show up late for work', because you'd be cheating the community out of the time and effort you'd promised to put in."

"Aye, and what if your contribution is more of a good rather than a service? Take Claire, for instance," Murphy added, pointing across the room to Negan's table, where a willowy woman with waist-length mouse-brown hair was attempting to break up a squabble between two young girls. "Now, being Negan's wife means she doesn't have to worry about points as much as the rest of us, but she was a jeweler in the old world and still does repairs and makes new things from time to time. Really good work, too. Let's say you commissioned a piece to send on to your love back home. How many points should she charge you? Who decides what's a fair price? And if she does a shoddy job, are you going to go to Negan and tell him his wife cheated you out of a fair deal?"

Aaron nodded. For a simply-worded code, there was a lot of potential gray area with any of the so-called Rules. "So Negan decides who's broken the rules and what the punishment should be?"

"Yes and no," Connor replied, "There's a committee, they're all former Feds. A lot of them are our neighbors, actually, we claimed the top floor once all the upper levels were finally cleared, and there aren't many who want to haul themselves up five flights of stairs at the end of the day. But they worked together before and wanted to keep their families close, sixth floor has the most open spaces. If someone's accused of breaking a Rule, it goes to them and they investigate. But Negan has the final say, and he's the one to do the punishing if it's called for."

_The illusion of impartial justice_, Aaron thought but wisely kept to himself. "And these Rules, they somehow mean everyone feels safe enough to have families."

Both brothers chuckled. "Suppose that's one way of looking at it," Murphy supplied. "But you're a smart man. Try breaking it down yourself."

Aaron thought back to the off-hand comment that had started them down this rabbit hole of a discussion. "Everyone contributes. Sounds like everyone does their fair share."

"Aye, we can't all do the same job, but everyone's job matters. That's the original intent. Keep going."

Aaron thought for several moments before shaking his head in defeat, "I'm sorry. I mean, children are an amazing blessing. I wouldn't trade my son for anything in the world. But when you're thinking about contributions, children need things, they aren't working or giving back."

"Not yet," was Connor's quick response. "But we're not thinking about the here and now. Best anyone can figure from the size of the herds compared to living communities, we lost, what, eight out of ten people in the outbreak? And more since then. Let's say there's 10% of the population living. Just to keep those numbers, there needs to be at least one child for every adult."

"And that's just to maintain, mind you. You want to grow, build a new world that can outlast the dead one. Having children is contributing to the future."

Aaron's mind whirled and his food was suddenly sitting like rocks in his gut. He couldn't help but look at the center row of tables, where Negan sat, flocked on either side and across from him by at least a half dozen women and even more small children. Nothing about the room had changed, but Aaron's worldview was all out of joint – suddenly, it seemed to him that every woman with a child in her arms was a potential prisoner. Yes, everyone seemed to be getting along happily enough as they ate together, but were their smiles just a little too bright to be real? _How many of these people had been forced into parenthood all in the name of following Negan's Rules?_

Aaron realized he'd been staring just a bit too long when he noticed both brothers and his elderly patients watching him with considering looks. _Can't freak out, never know who might go to Negan about this and what they would say…_ Aaron cleared his throat, and his thoughts, "So, is it like a quota? Have x number of children and you earn so many points?"

To his surprise, both men and the old priest burst out laughing. "Jesus fucking Christ!" Murphy exclaimed in between hearty chuckles.

"Lord's fucking name," his brother admonished.

"Sorry, sorry," Murphy quickly crossed himself with a muttered _Hail Mary, mother of God_, "It's just that I had no idea you'd take it that way. It's not that fucking serious, man."

Connor put a calming hand on his brother's arm but directed his words to Aaron, "No one's going around putting guns to people's heads, telling them to get a room, fuck around, make a baby. Consent is a big fucking deal, especially to Negan. Put your hands on a woman without her permission, well… let's just say he won't bother waiting for the furnace to heat up. It's more of an understanding."

"No, it's the gossips. Nosy biddies who can't mind their own fucking business," Murphy grumbled.

"The world may have ended, but small-town gossip never dies," Connor agreed.

"_Oh, I just can't believe you're not married yet, handsome young man like you, and with that accent, the girls must be flocking to you!",_ Murphy jumped in with a high-pitched sing-song voice. "Or, _the ceremony was just lovely, dear, and just think, this time next year it'll be the pitter patter of little feet!"_

Connor couldn't resist adding his own impressions, "_Still no children? That's such a shame, dearie! Have you seen the doctor about it? Perhaps there's something he can do to help."_

"_Are you at least on the adoption list? Poor little ones go through so much, and the two of you would give them such a good home."_

"_Or have you thought about a surrogate? My niece and her husband, they wanted a child so badly, but he was having a little trouble, you know, 'down there', but they asked around and found themselves someone willing to help, and now they have the cutest little girl! And they're thinking about having another, don'tcha know?"_

Murphy reached out and poked Aaron's forearm, who was by now softly chuckling at the brothers' antics as they tried to one-up each other's silliness, "_You've got one son, yes, but doesn't the poor lad get lonely without a little brother or sister to play with?_"

"There's plenty of bachelors and bachelorettes around. See, no rings on these fingers," Connor waggled his left hand. "It's just an unspoken expectation. If you are married and you can have children, why wouldn't you? No one pays for doctor's visits, and the mum gets a lighter workload for full points for the last month or so of her pregnancy and doesn't work at all for the first six months after the little one's born."

"Well, there are exceptions…"

"Right, Jesus, poor Doc! Doc Carson was laid up with a nasty bit of flu right when she was set to give birth. Had to go to Towers to deliver, twins mind you! And then was back here working full time just a couple of days after."

Aaron's ears perked up at the first mention of the place where Maggie had been taken. He wanted to ask more, but the twins had already moved on to a new topic and Aaron wasn't sure how safe it would be to circle back. But now he knew of at least three people he felt semi-comfortable talking to who knew something about Maggie's location, and that was more than he'd had before.

And while the twins had done what they could to assure him that everyone else was here and living the way they were by their own choice, Aaron couldn't help his eyes wandering back to Negan's wives, sitting together, most with at least one child to manage. Two in particular stood out, in part because they were the only two at the table without any little ones in their immediate vicinity and in part because they were sitting as far away from Negan as they could without being overly obvious. One woman with shorter auburn hair had her arms around a forlorn-looking blonde who stared blankly at her untouched plate and seemed oblivious to whatever comfort was being whispered in her ears. However much anyone said about the rules being for the people's benefit or how high a priority was placed on everyone being willing and choosing freely, Aaron was highly skeptical that all the women surrounding the Sanctuary's leader were thrilled by their supposed choice in marriage partner. Someone like Negan might go through the motions of asking, but once he did, who here could really afford to say no?

* * *

Daryl stared at the doorknob for what could have been the better part of an hour without moving. Was he really supposed to believe the fat bastard who'd brought his third meal – another dog-food sandwich and half a bottle of water – was stupid enough to leave the door unlocked on accident? And then abandon his guard duty by loudly thudding down the hall in great clumping steps? _Bullshit_, Daryl thought to himself. _Ain't falling for it._

Except the longer he sat there, the more tempting it became. If it had stayed totally silent, he would have been more suspicious. But there was occasional foot traffic outside his cell. And for all he knew, there could have been plenty of times when no one was posted directly outside his door. Having been unconscious, Daryl had no idea where he was in relation to the rest of the compound, or even how extensive the compound was. If Negan kept multiple prisoners, and Daryl wouldn't be surprised if he did, then they wouldn't likely waste a guard for each individual. Maybe this was just normal procedure. _Maggie could be here, could still need help. And Beth __is__ here, somewhere._

He waited for another minute. _Fuck it._ He was tired of sitting on his ass getting nowhere. And searching for Beth had been put on hold for long enough.

The doorknob twisted easily and the hinges were blessedly silent as Daryl risked glances down either side of the hallway. But there was no one to see him ease the door shut again and begin creeping stealthily towards the more well-lit end of the hall. The light, it turned out, came from the window on an exterior door, and covert glances revealed a kind of outdoor garage area – a row of motorcycles flanked on either side by clusters of convoy trucks and personal-sized U-Hauls. Not where Daryl wanted to be. But also no one visibly approaching to cut off his potential escape, should it come to that.

Heading back the way he'd come and going past his cell to explore other halls, he almost didn't notice the other person approaching from behind until the feminine hand was within reach of his arm. _Last place you want to be off your game, Dixon. Get your shit together._

He'd wanted it to be Beth but wasn't surprised to not see her eyes staring back at him when he turned. He was mildly startled, though, to recognize the face as the woman he'd met in the woods with Dwight, the one who'd helped tie him up and steal his bike. On second thought, he should have guessed she'd be here; Dwight obviously had come back (or been forced back); why wouldn't she?

"Go back," she whispered.

He took a chance – it's not like Negan didn't already know why he'd let himself be brought here in the first place. "Where's Beth?" he kept his voice equally quiet.

"Negan's got eyes on her to make sure she doesn't come to you until he decides to let her. It's a test, you've got to go back."

"Why should I believe you?"

"She said to tell you she finally tried peach schnapps and that you were right, it would have been a terrible first drink."

That gave Daryl pause. It was something no one else would know, even in their family, and Beth had obviously trusted this woman, _Sherrie_, his mind finally recalled her name, enough to use her as a go-between.

He tried again, "Where is she?"

"She's alright, but you can't get to her. Not yet. He's testing you. And if you get caught it'll only make things worse. _Go back_."

Sherrie slipped back down the hallway she'd come from, leaving Daryl standing uncertainly in the middle of the corridor. It's not that he doubted Sherrie's words, Negan seemed like the kind of bastard who enjoyed playing mind tricks on people. But after 830? 31? days (and it grated on him more than he expected to realize that he'd lost track), he wasn't sure how much longer he could take being so close to finding Beth and not actually doing it.

There was nothing for it, he knew, except to go back to his cell and hope that no one had noticed his absence. That pipe dream was shattered, though, the second he turned the corner and realized his cell door was open.

_No point putting it off_, he thought as he closed the distance between himself and the windowless box he'd been stuck in for far too long.

He heard the sing-song whistle before he saw the flash of white teeth. Negan was in the cell, leaning casually against the back wall, Lucille swinging gently back and forth in front of him like a clock pendulum. Seeing Daryl pause a few feet from the doorway, Negan pushed off from the wall and stepped into the light with a full smirk. "You just cost a lot of people some serious points. But not me. I knew you'd be back."

He strode right past Daryl towards the door that led to the parking area, knowing without looking that Daryl would follow. He kept on talking as he led his prisoner outside for the first sunlight he'd felt in ages, "See, a lot of the boys thought you'd make a break for it, so they waited out here hoping to be the ones to catch you." Sure enough, more than a dozen armed Saviors emerged from their hiding places behind the trucks and surrounded Daryl and their leader. "A few others, they thought you might be broken enough to just stay put. Almost had them believing they'd called it right, with how fucking long you took to pop out of your little hidey hole. But me? Nah, I knew there was no fucking way you'd be trying to leave here without finding out the truth about your little blue-eyed Angel. And no fucking way you'd stay put waiting patiently for me to get bored enough to visit. You're an emotional animal, aren't you, Daryl? Showed that out there on the road with your admittedly well-landed right cross. Did NOT see that shit coming! I'm man enough to own it. But once you've lashed out, you get to thinking, and you make the smart choice. So I knew, you'd take the bait, do a little exploring, and then realize the error of your ways and tuck tail. And you did not disappoint."

Negan took a deep breath, "Jesus H. Christ, I forget how fucking awful that box smells! Fucking reeks in there, don't know how you stand it, really. I need some serious fresh air after that shit. Come on," he waved Daryl forward with Lucille. "Let's take a little stroll."

The rest of the Saviors took that as their cue to move on. Only Dwight followed a short distance behind as Negan led them around the corner of the massive concrete and glass building. Daryl used the chance to look around while trying to not visibly wince whenever a particularly sharp rock dug into his bare feet. The main building was several stories tall, but there were a few smaller, more recently constructed buildings within the walker-fortified borders. Behind them, near the northeast corner of the fence was a wood barn that, from the smell, housed at least a few horses. And bordering the open garage was a metal framework with plastic sheeting serving as a decently-sized greenhouse. But the south side of the building, where Negan was heading, seemed to be the front of the compound, with large plate glass windows and an outer stair case with a small, open-air elevator rigged to one side.

"Dwighty-boy, wait here. Daryl and I need to have a little heart-to-heart." Negan popped the latch on the elevator's waist-high gate and gallantly gestured for Daryl to step onto the metal platform first. It was a surprisingly smooth ride to the top, where the only way off the elevator was to maneuver over the stairway landing's railing. Negan immediately sat himself down on the landing with his legs casually dangling over the edge and rested his elbows on the lower rail, the ever-present baseball bat on his far side, while Daryl stood silently next to him, waiting for Negan's next move.

Negan sighed, "Oh, for fuck's sake, I'm not having this conversation staring at your crotch the whole fucking time. If I wanted you dead, pushing you off the six-story ledge isn't how I'd do it. And you're not going to push me, either, 'cause you're smart enough to know it won't do any good. So now that we both know this is going to be a civil chat, do us both a favor and sit your ass down."

With that, Negan began fishing in the inner pocket of his leather jacket until he produced a metal cigarette folio and lighter. Daryl used the time to situate himself on the platform, trying to find a position that allowed him to see Negan's face while not draping his bare feet over the edge, but ultimately resigning himself to mimicking Negan's stance.

"Smoke?" Negan held out a hand-rolled cigarette that looked suspiciously like a joint. "You look like you smoke." He chuckled, "Jesus, relax, it's just tobacco. Despite repeated requests, we haven't yet made room in the greenhouses for Miss Mary Jane."

Negan deliberately looked out over the Sanctuary's yard and to the open field and woods beyond the fence as he took a long pull from his own cigarette. "This is one of my favorite spots. Roof's good too, can actually see the sunset. But this elevator doesn't go all the way up and besides, big place like this, not a lot of privacy. And this conversation is just for the two of us."

Daryl also kept his eyes trained on the view rather than the man beside him, but he didn't have to look to hear the difference in the Negan's voice. The over-the-top sing-song cadence was gone, dropped in favor of a quiet, almost introspective tone. Made the man seem more human. To Daryl, it made Negan more dangerous – this was a man you could almost want to trust, and Daryl couldn't afford to let his guard down. Not with his family on the line. But he could play along, enjoy a free smoke and fresh air and pretend to be agreeable. The late afternoon light cast a warm golden glow on the open courtyard below. Daryl might have called it beautiful, if he weren't so keenly aware that he was inches away from his worst enemy since the Governor.

"We're not so different. You, me, even Rick the prick; we're all just trying to protect what's ours. You played the game and lost. Fucking sucks. Now we all gotta swallow that loss and get on with things."

"Where's Beth?" Daryl's voice was rougher than usual from lack of use and being unaccustomed to the unfiltered smoke. " What've you done with her?"

"You really should pay better attention. I promised she'd watch you die if you fucked up. I never promised anything about what would happen if you didn't. Gotta read all the fine print, my friend."

Daryl's free hand gripped the railing until he was white-knuckled to keep from throwing another punch or throttling Negan. Negan's soft laughter was the only indication that he'd caught Daryl's reaction.

"Alright, alright, bad joke is all. I can see you're not in the mood, so I'll get right to the point. Lay it all out there for you, no bullshit, no teasing, no dicking around." Negan turned to face Daryl. "I've got two offers for you: a deal, and a choice. So here's the deal. You want to see Beth, she very much wants to see you. I'm going to give you the opportunity to earn that reunion. First thing in the morning, you, me, some of the boys, we are going on a little road trip. Specifically, we're making our first official visit to Alexandria. I know, I promised them a full week to get their shit together, but I've just got this feeling that I would be much better off keeping tricky Rick on his toes, and off his game, yes?"

Daryl used the excuse of a long drag on his smoke to keep from having to respond. Negan smirked knowingly and continued, "You behave yourself, follow my rules _to the letter_, not let those nasty emotional outbursts get the better of you, and, tomorrow night, you and Beth get a private conversation. No supervision, no eavesdroppers, just the two of you. Good news is, even if somebody from your old crowd causes trouble, that's not on you. This is strictly about you. You do as you're told, at the end of the day, you get your gold star. Better news, this is just the start of an ongoing deal. Every day that you don't give me shit, you get to see her, talk to her. You get to check in on her, she gets to check in on you, everybody's happy. Well, happier."

Daryl kept his eyes on the horizon and mentally steeled himself. "What do I gotta do?"

"It's more about what you don't get to do. You don't communicate with anyone. No talking. No passing notes. No hand gestures, eye rolls, nothing. In fact, it would be best if your eyes never went higher than anyone's shoulders, just to be on the safe side. Zero interaction with anyone who isn't me or another Savior. Anyone tries, they call out to you, reach for a hug, handshake, what-the-fuck-ever, you do not respond. Step away, turn turn your back. If you've got nowhere to go, stand there and make it real fucking clear, to me and anyone else who might be watching, that you no longer have anything to do with any of them. Understand?"

At Daryl's nod, Negan added, "Other than that, just do as you're told. I tell you to haul shit, you haul shit. I tell you burn down one of their houses, you light that fucking match. I tell you to hold out your hand so Rick can take his axe to it the way I _probably_ should have made him do to Junior, you keep that arm steady and do your best not to flinch. We clear?"

A nod wasn't enough this time, "Gonna need to hear you say the words."

"Yeah, I got it."

"Good, this time tomorrow, if you can keep your head on straight, I think we can both agree you'll be in much more _desirable_ company." Negan flicked the end of his nearly-finished cigarette. Daryl's stomach churned at Negan's choice of words and the deliberate insinuation behind it.

"So that's the deal. Here comes the choice. And I want you to keep in mind, one has nothing to do with the other. You behave, you get your daily Beth-time. Clear-cut, black and white, it is what it fucking is. The choice I'm about to give you, that might be a little more complicated. Which is why I do not want an answer from you tonight."

Negan leaned forward so his lips were mere inches from Daryl's ear, and he did his best to not pull away as he quietly spoke, "I need you to know, really know, in your heart, your gut, your soul, your dick, whatever the fuck it is that drives your thinking, that your time in Alexandria is over. Done. No matter what happens, there is absolutely nothing that Rick or any other the others can do to get their pet redneck back. They don't know that yet, but you? You need to know it, really take it in. Accept that Alexandria is your past and this place is your future. This is your new normal. Take a look down there," Negan pointed to the courtyard in front of them. It had been virtually empty when they first came up to the stairway landing, but now the doors to the one-story brick building on the left-hand side of the compound were open and dozens of children were streaming out of what was apparently a schoolhouse, laughing and playing, running to greet parents emerging from the main factory building. All of them oblivious to the two men watching.

"Those people, they're now your people. They're Beth's people." At that, Daryl sat up a little straighter, his eyes alert as he scanned the crowd. But they were too high up and, though he spotted a few women with long blonde hair, he couldn't say for certain whether one of them was her or not.

Negan knew what Daryl was doing, "I told you, you'll see her tomorrow. Not before. Pay attention. What's important here is that these people are important to Beth. She's important to you. And you're a protector. You proved as much on the road, throwing yourself on the chopping block just to spare what's-her-name's feelings. All those innocents down there, are they somehow less deserving of protection than the people behind Alexandria's walls?"

He let Daryl stew on that for a moment before getting to the point. "Your life is here now, but that doesn't mean it has to be a prison sentence. In a few minutes, you're going to go back to your cell and spend the night thinking long and hard about what you want your life here to be. And in the morning, when that door opens, you're going to give me your answer. You have two choices. You can choose to stay loyal to Rick and his people, in which case that box you've been holed up in, it becomes your whole world. A lifetime of solitary confinement, except for Beth's visits, of course, for however long she's willing to put up with the stench. We'll take you out every so often, hose you down, parade you in front of Rick so he knows I haven't killed you. And that's it. That is the rest of your life."

"Or. Tomorrow morning, I open that door, and you bend the knee. You swear allegiance to me. And your world opens up. You get your clothes back, your shoes, your crossbow. Your dignity. You never have to see the inside of that cell again. There's plenty of jobs around here, and you strike me as the kind of guy with a pretty diverse set of skills. We'll find you something. Not just mindless grunt work but something meaningful, something with purpose, where you can make a difference. And after tomorrow, if you want, you never have to set foot in Alexandria again, if a clean break is easier for you. Or maybe you want to be included on those runs now and then, check in on things, that's fine, too. Those daily conversations with Beth, wouldn't they be a whole lot nicer if you were, say, taking a walk through the woods? Or sitting on the roof, watching the sun go down? Pretty girl deserves a pretty view, don't you think?"

Negan stood up and flicked the last of his cigarette over the railing and stretched. "I know, it's a lot to take in. I imagine, you'd greatly prefer it if you could talk to Beth before making your big decision. Too fucking bad. This isn't about her, it's about you. It's about what you can live with. You can spend the rest of your days as a hostage, nobly sacrificing yourself on the alter of your own loyalty to Rick Grimes. Or you can be Negan."

He stepped back onto the elevator before making one last comment, "When you're done, Dwight's waiting for you downstairs. You know, today, this afternoon's little experiment, I had you pretty pegged. But this, I honestly don't know which way you'll go. So I guess tomorrow we're both gonna be surprised. Enjoy your smoke break."

* * *

During the day, Aaron was fine. He could get lost in the tasks and the mostly-friendly chatter and he could forget, push everything else to a private place in the back of his mind and play the part of the upbeat, likeable guy he was expected to be. But the second he closed the door to his room, the emotional dam would burst and all his fear, worry, and grief would come flooding back to drown him again.

He was barely able to choke down a few bites of food between broken sobs and sleep was all but impossible. The full-sized mattress was simultaneously smaller and emptier than the queen-sized bed he shared with Eric. The sheets didn't smell of him, the pillow wasn't flattened or marked with stray ginger hairs.

And they both must be going out of their minds with worry, too. Aside from a few day trips, he and Eric hadn't been apart since the dead started walking and the walls went up. And Luke was too young, had already lost one set of parents and seen his home taken over and destroyed by the Governor's raiding party. Now Negan's men would be swarming the cul-de-sacs and yards where he played, and who knew when or even if they'd ever let Aaron go?

Aaron didn't know what to do. He was physically and emotionally exhausted, always on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Any day now he was sure this pleasant facade of a work detail would be pulled away and Negan would swoop in to reveal his real plans for Aaron's imprisonment. He could already feel the lack of restful sleep taking its toll on his ability to function during the day, and if he slacked in his work, what would that mean for his family back home?

He hadn't gotten more than a passing glimpse of the friendly doctor since his initial meeting with her, which meant no chance to find out whether she'd learned anything about Daryl's or Maggie's fates. If she'd ever intended to follow through in the first place. For all Aaron knew, his friends were both already dead, he would be next, and Negan would just keep stringing everyone in Alexandria along, pretending his hostages were still alive so everyone would keep cooperating. Maybe his family would never know what happened to him.

Aaron had worked himself more than halfway to a full-blown nervous breakdown when he realized that someone was knocking on his door. _Great, there goes the illusion of privacy_. He could only imagine what he must look like to whoever was on the other side, dressed in rumpled scrub pants and an undershirt, eyes bloodshot and face blotchy from crying. But it's not as though he could ignore his visitor or pretend he wasn't "home". Where else was he going to be?

He couldn't decide whether to be relieved or further embarrassed when he saw Murphy and Connor McManus' matching all-black attire and expectant faces when he opened the door. He settled for a bit of both as he invited them in while trying to discretely wipe his face.

If the brothers noticed, they said nothing about it. "We won't be long. Brought you something you might find helpful." Connor held out two matching notebooks bound in soft black leather. Beside him, Murphy's outstretched hand held a pack of pens.

"I, ah, thank you, I mean, um – "

"It's so you can write to your son," Connor explained.

"I… what?"

"First run to Alexandria's tomorrow. We're both going. One journal stays with you, the other goes to your family. We'll switch them off each week. That way, you can write back and forth, keep in touch."

Aaron ran shaking fingers over the leather binding with a kind of reverence, "I can…I can write to my fam – " he choked up in a fresh wave of tears. "But – "

"It's all been cleared with Negan," Murphy guessed at Aaron's unspoken concern, "He reserves the right to read anything you put in there, so bear in mind, this is just for making things easier on your boy."

"Right… right… okay," Aaron could barely speak above a whisper, emotions overwhelming him.

Connor gave a nod and a significant look to the journals, "If you write in that first one tonight, we can take it with us in the morning."

Aaron couldn't be bothered to hide his confusion as he did what the twins seemed to want him to do without explicitly saying so, but the pointed look made more sense when Aaron pulled back the cover of the top journal and found a torn scrap of paper resting above the blank pages.

_Maggie's alive and recovering. Daryl too. I told you, everything's going to be fine. You're going to make it. – Doc_

Aaron swallowed and tried to steady his breathing as he processed his thoughts, tried to wrap his mind around what his new friend must have done not only to keep her word, but to make this gift possible.

"Just leave it on the table, we'll swing by before we leave. And don't worry, we won't forget," Murphy assured.

_Make that friends, plural._ Aaron met both brothers' eyes, "I won't forget, either. Thank you," he whispered.

He waited until they had closed the door gently behind them before hugging the books to his chest and breathing deeply. It was the first tangible glimmer of hope he'd had since kneeling at the Saviors' feet and he wanted to revel in it for just a moment.

_Okay, I can do this. They're alive, I'm not alone, and I can write to my family._ Which then begged the question, _What do I tell them?_

Glancing at the bedside clock, Aaron realized how late it had gotten and sprang into action with renewed purpose. He had work to do and he had a feeling that, if he hurried, he might get some real sleep tonight.

_Dear Luke..._

* * *

Daryl didn't sleep at all, and he knew it must have showed on his face when the cell door opened the next morning.

Negan was waiting on the other side. "So, what's it going to be? The big question: Who are you?"

Daryl kept his eyes downcast but stayed on his feet as he gave the answer he hoped he could live with.

"Daryl."

Negan nodded, accepting his choice. "Alright then, _Daryl_, let's go for a ride."

* * *

**Sorry about the delay; hopefully, it was worth the wait. Remember, reviews make authors happy, and happy authors tend to write faster...**


	4. Chapter 4

**Whew! That last chapter was a long one and Daryl STILL hasn't seen Beth, but there were a lot of seeds that needed to be planted for later chapters… Bethyl's coming, people, I promise! **

**And now, in the immortal words of Samuel L. Jackson, "Hold on to your butts…"**

* * *

Chapter 4: Arrival, Part II

Rick wastefully let the water run in the bathroom sink as he scrubbed his face tiredly. He'd taken, in the last few days, to seeking out impromptu hiding spots to grab a few minutes' peace for himself. _Pathetic_, he knew, but it was all he could do to keep sane.

Difficult couldn't begin to describe the struggle after Negan and the Saviors had driven away, leaving their group in emotionally-ragged tatters on the ground. It had been all Rick could do to get them on their feet, get them moving back towards home. Glenn had, naturally, been the most resistant, wanting to mount an immediate search for his wife, his loud protests drawing in a few straggling walkers that had to be dealt with while they tried to stop him from taking off on foot in the direction Maggie had been taken, screaming insults in Rick's face until his voice cracked for not stopping this, for not even seeming to care that she was in trouble. Rick hadn't taken any of it to heart. Sometimes the emotions just had to spill out to relieve the pressure.

But they had jobs to do. Had to get home, bury Eugene, tell the others, warn Hilltop, prepare for Negan's inevitable arrival. Rick couldn't afford to fall apart (at least, not any more than he already had in front of Negan). Someone had to keep their group going.

Tyrese and Sasha had been unexpected god-sends. The siblings had wordlessly lent their support to Rick and used a divide-and-conquer approach to help him get everyone organized, Sasha focusing on helping Abraham and Rosita wrap Eugene's body for transport and Tyrese pulling Glenn into a gentle but firm bear hug until the smaller man's frenzy was exhausted enough to be herded into the RV before murmuring in Rick's ear that he would make the solo trip to Hilltop so they'd know what happened. Michonne had her arms around Carl, drawing strength from her adopted son as much as she was lending it.

Telling the community hadn't been easy; there were discontented murmurs and outright vocal protests (Spencer Monroe being the ringleader of that particular crowd). Eric had taken the news with surprising aplomb. Rick had gone to him personally, before pulling everyone else to the church, he felt he owed that to Aaron to try and honor what might have been his last request.

"Is he alive?" had been Eric's only question at seeing Rick's pallor when he opened the front door.

"Yes, but it's bad," Rick's hushed tone matched the red-head's, spying Luke at the breakfast bar, happily ignoring his toast while focused on a coloring book.

The two men had stepped out onto the porch so Rick could explain privately.

"Can we get him back?"

"I don't know. But we're going to try."

And that had been enough to momentarily satisfy the worried boyfriend and father.

But four days later, it seemed Rick's calm, logistic approach was grating on nearly everyone's nerves. _Didn't everyone else realize he was just as freaked out as they were? _He just didn't have the luxury of showing it. Negan would be at their gates in a matter of days, they weren't even sure what he wanted and so they didn't have much of an idea of how to prepare. They certainly had no clear plan of attack for rescuing their friends, if such a thing were even possible. And if they screwed this up, they could lose even more people than they already had. So Rick kept his cool. And if his trips to the bathroom or quick checks on Judith in the night had grown more frequent or lasted a little longer than strictly necessary, well, that's what he needed to stay strong for everyone else.

A tattered road map of Virginia was spread out on Abraham and Sasha's kitchen table, marked with the places they knew: their own location, Hilltop, the outpost they'd burned, roads they knew were passable (and the ones they knew to avoid). Rick would have preferred to use his own home as their base of operations, so that, if they got caught, the focus would be on him instead of anyone else in their family. But Abraham's strategic training had prevailed when he pointed out that doing so would also mean drawing potential attention to his children, and after nearly being forced to mutilate his own son, Rick was desperate to keep Carl and Judith as far away from Negan as he could. So, even though it put them on the safe zone's main road, at the entrance to the middle of their three cul-de-sacs and therefore at most foot-traffic-heavy part of their community, Abraham and Sasha's home had been deemed the most suitable place to meet. A new mark had been added, the fork in the road where they'd been terrorized by the Saviors.

"What if Towers is a reference to some of the high-rises in DC? After going North, they could have cut East right here, headed for Arlington. Or even stayed on the highway and come around the capitol from the Northwest side," Sasha's finger traced the potential paths on the page.

"Trouble is, this map's only showing state roads and major highways. They could have turned off on any two-bit county street. We need something more detailed," Tyrese noted.

"What if Towers means a radio tower?" Glenn posited. "I mean, they were set up at a satellite relay station, and some of them were wearing walkie-talkies. Seems communication is a thing for them."

"Radio tower, water tower, for all we fucking know, Towers is Negan's way of screwing with us and it's in a damn valley with nothing taller than a grasshopper's tits," Abraham's temper flared.

"What if we focus instead on their main hub?" Rick tried to break up the bickering before it got worse.

"And what, just forget about Maggie?!"

"No," Rick tried to appease Glenn for what felt like the 80th time that morning alone, "But this is getting us nowhere. Smaller outposts could be anywhere. And with three hostages and Tara, Carol, and Morgan still out on the road where we can't find them, we've got too many unknowns and not enough fighters to spread ourselves thin for a random search and still protect everyone here. But it might be possible to find Negan's main camp. It's more likely to be a fortified stronghold like this place. We know the convoy went South of the fork, but we'd have found it already if it were between here and Hilltop, so it must be further South than that, but still close enough that they can make those weekly runs and organize against us the way they did. Something big enough to house all the Saviors he brought out there that night, plus anyone else he didn't, would be big enough to be noticeable. And he can't have all these supposed outposts without a map like this one to keep track of them all. We find his primary base of operation, we can find a direct route to Maggie and get Aaron and Daryl back in the process."

He leveled looks at each person, hoping that cooler heads would prevail. But it didn't matter as the front door opened with a bang and Francine announced, "They're here."

* * *

By the time Rick made it to the gate after a quick jog to his own home to tell Carl to keep Judith occupied and out of sight, trusting that the rest of the group would secure their map and notes, he could see Negan and Spencer engaged in a conversation. And whatever Spencer was saying, Negan's smile did nothing to hide his irritation. _Just what we need_.

Still, he couldn't stop his own frustrated comment before it slipped out, "You're early."

Negan's expression turned downright wolfish as his eyes met Rick's, "I missed you."

Being made to carry the instrument of Eugene's brutal execution and follow Negan as he crowed about the "embarrassment of riches" Alexandria had to offer was bad enough; being told he couldn't even look at Daryl, much less talk to him, was nearly intolerable. His brother looked awful, stringy hair covering his face but not fully concealing the dark bags under his eyes, and the dingy sweats marked with the capital A (what the Hell was that even about?) could be concealing any number of injuries. Daryl's shuffling steps and hunched shoulders were nothing like the confident hunter Rick knew him to be, and it brought to mind Tyrese's confided concerns from his observation on the road: Negan was holding something over Daryl's head, something neither man could put a finger on, but it was clearly so formidable a threat that it had taken the fight completely out of one of the fiercest men Rick had ever known. And with Negan and the Saviors, anything unknown was dangerous.

"We're going to have a look around, get to know the people here, see what the fuck-all it is you have to offer," Negan explained as they walked down the slight hill at the start of Alexandria's main street.

"What about Maggie?" Glenn's voice carried out as he rushed out from between two houses, "What did you do to her?"

Rick mentally groaned. This was a delicate situation, and Glenn's emotions made him more like the proverbial bull in a china shop. Rick had hoped Tyrese would be able to keep him away from the Saviors, but, clearly, the former delivery man had been too quick and determined.

But if Negan found the outburst rude, he didn't show it. "Well, hello, Baby-Daddy. And here I was thinking you might be out there trying to make good on your promise. _Maggie, I'll find you!_ But I'm glad to see you made the wiser choice. So I tell you what: if everything goes smoothly here today, I will give you an update on your wife and baby-mama before we leave. To that end, things would go much more fucking smoothly if most everyone were at their homes. Makes it easier for my people to get an accurate head-count, get answers to any questions they might have. Not you, Rick," he added as his unspoken dismissal sent Glenn and the few more courageous onlookers shuffling away. "Need my tour guide, might get fucking lost here without you."

"But I must say," Negan turned to more fully face Rick, "I am surprised that no one's even fucking bothered to ask about Aaron. Did I get that wrong? Is he not as fucking important to the community as I thought?"

"I was hoping to talk to you about that," Rick did his best to keep his tone respectful. "I-"

But whatever plea he might have made for the hostages' safe return was cut short by the sound of a single gunshot.

* * *

Eric had kept Luke preoccupied for two days before the six-year-old's insistent questions about his Papa's prolonged absence could no longer be brushed aside. Eric had been as gentle and positive about it as he could, trying to couch his words in a way that wouldn't frighten his boy. But a child's intuition was a powerful thing, and Luke had been thoroughly shaken ever since. He no longer slept alone but curled up next to Eric at night, his fists tightly gripping his Daddy's pajamas for fear he'd disappear, too.

So when word had spread through the subdivision that the Saviors had arrived, in full force and ahead of schedule, Eric had quickly scooped Luke up from their backyard patio and sealed themselves up inside the house with the curtains drawn.

It wasn't enough. The knock at the door wasn't a harsh banging, but it wasn't to be ignored, either. Eric rejected the fleeting notion of sending Luke to hide in his closet and instead picked him up, tucking the boy's head against his shoulder as he carefully opened the door.

Two men in matching black sunglasses and long coats opened to display matching wood rosary beads around their necks stood side by side on the front porch at what almost seemed a respectful distance from the door.

"May we come in?" the polite question in a lilting Irish accent seemed strangely comforting, and even Luke was curious enough to turn and look at the strange men.

"I suppose there's not really much point in refusing," Eric was resigned as he stepped aside to allow them access.

"Not really," one acknowledged with a wry grin as they simultaneously removed their sunglasses, "But this is a visit you might just find yourself not minding so much. You are Eric, right, Eric Raleigh?"

He nodded and couldn't help but stiffen, more suspicious at the familiar address than he was by just having random Saviors in his home.

"And that would make you Luke, yes?" the second man addressed the boy directly with a friendly smile. "This is for you, it's from your Dad."

Luke looked uncertainly between the outstretched leather-bound book and his Dad. "I think he means your Papa," Eric softly corrected, taking the book in his free hand before turning to the two men, his demeanor a little less guarded, "Aaron? This is from Aaron?"

"Aye, he asked us to pass this along, wanted you to know he was alright. Go on, open it."

The first pages were covered edge to edge in a hastily printed scrawl that Eric would recognize anywhere. "Go on, Buddy," he encouraged, "Can you read that first bit there?"

The boy used his index finger to follow the words as he carefully sounded out, "_Dear Luke_ – hey, that's me!" His curly-haired head was now fully off his Dad's shoulder as he excitedly read on in slow determination, "_I love you and Daddy so much and I'm so sorry I'm not there with you right now. Tell Daddy not to worry; I'm okay._ Does that mean Daddy's coming home soon?"

"Sorry, lad, I'm afraid his new job is going to keep him away a while longer. But, while he's gone, he wanted to be sure he could keep in touch with you and your Dad, so he got you this book, and another just like it. See, he's written to you, and there's all these blank pages so you can write him back, draw pictures, whatever you like, and next week, we'll take it to him and bring you a new letter from him."

"But he's okay? Really?" Eric used his son's distraction with the book to let some of his worry show through.

"He's okay. Would rather be here, of course. But he's comfortable, has food, his own space, good work to keep himself occupied. And Aaron's a good man, already made a few friends, people who are looking out for him, us included."

"I, thank you doesn't seem enough, but…" Eric trailed off helplessly, but they were already waving him off.

"Least we can do for a friend. I'm Murphy, by the way, and this lout over here is my brother, Connor. Oh! Almost forgot," Murphy reached behind his back to pull the second journal from his waistband. "The one you've got there stays so you can add to it through the week, but this one," he handed the blank journal to Eric, "Aaron doesn't know we took this one, too, it's the one he's meant to be writing in this week. Thought it might be nice to surprise him with a quick note from the two of you."

Connor stepped up as Eric set Luke down, ran excitedly upstairs to get his art supplies. "I'm sorry to have to do this, but the other reason we're here is to search the house. Negan wants a thorough count of everyone who lives here."

Eric nodded, "It's fine. Should expect it, I suppose. Can Luke and I be down here together while you do whatever it is you have to do?"

"We'd prefer it, actually. Hey," he added brightly at Luke's return. "Looks like we've a budding artist on our hands." He turned back to the adults, "Won't be long." And he slipped upstairs while Eric and Luke busied themselves on the couch, discussing what they wanted to say to Aaron in the short time they had. Murphy gave them a bit of privacy while sweeping through the downstairs areas and garage.

"Hate to bother you," Connor finished first, though Murphy was close behind, "The extra bedroom and the second bunk in Luke's room?"

"Oh, Judith, one of the other kids, she and Luke have regular sleepovers. And the extra bedroom is technically Daryl's, that's why his things are there, but he hardly ever sleeps in there and now, I guess, it doesn't really-"

The gunshot caught him off-guard, and Luke jumped into his arms.

The brothers were all business, checking the windows, hands resting on their holstered handguns. It was almost comical, how in sync they were with each other, if the situation weren't so serious.

"Stay here," Connor urged as they both slid out the door.

_Not a problem,_ Eric thought to himself while carrying Luke back to the couch. "Come on," he said with false brightness, "Let's write to Papa."

* * *

Negan kept pace several steps ahead of Rick as he strode towards the Grimes house, where the shot seemed to have originated. If Rick weren't so preoccupied with making sure one of his children wasn't injured (or worse), he might have risked dropping back to check on Daryl, who had dutifully trailed behind both leaders for the duration of the visit and was following them still, eyes trained on the road.

Inside the main room, Negan had already positioned himself between one of his Saviors and Carl's outstretched gun. Rick felt miserably helpless as he took up a spot to his son's side, wanting to reach out and snatch the handgun before Carl did something they couldn't possibly come back from.

"Well, excuse the shit out of my god-damned French, but did you just threaten me?"

With Daryl hovering just inside the entryway and Carl staring down Negan defiantly in front of him, it was the worst case of "caught between a rock and a hard place" Rick could remember. If he stepped in to stop his son, after Negan had already warned him off, Daryl would likely pay the price. More specifically, Rick would likely be forced to make Daryl pay, based on Negan's earlier threats. But if Carl didn't _shut up_ and hand over the gun, Negan was very likely to lose patience with his latest cat-and-mouse game and have Lucille claim another victim, and Rick was not prepared to bury his son.

He reached for the gun with poorly-hidden relief as soon as Carl relaxed his grip, but Rick already knew in his heart the damage had been done. And when he considered the alternatives, the penalty was almost reasonable. If the tables had been turned, disarming the Saviors would have been one of Rick's first moves. If anything, he should have been surprised Negan hadn't demanded it from the start.

At least the leather-clad man was smiling about it, "Rick, where are my guns?"

* * *

They were two guns short. _Sweet Jesus, can we catch one god-damned break?_ Sasha watched in frustrated dismay as Negan rounded on Olivia, questioning her abilities with the inventory. And her fingernails bit into her palms every time Daryl made another silent trip past her to load their family's weapons into the Saviors' trucks. Daryl's face was unreadable - he didn't even flinch when Negan had aimed a gun inches from his face earlier – but Sasha had no trouble putting herself in his shoes and knew just how boiling mad she'd be if she were forced to actively disarm and leave helpless the people she loved.

_Fucking Negan. And Fucking Carl – was it really that hard keep your mouth shut and watch your sister for an hour?_

"Two guns missing, so I'm going to give you two hours," Negan's voice interrupted Sasha's musings. "Miss Olivia here will keep me company while you search. Two hours exactly to do this your way, Rick, and then, if both of my guns aren't in my hands, on time, we will look for them _my way_. _And you. Will. Not. Like it._ Arat!" He suddenly called out, "Go fetch me my Daryl."

Sasha wanted to stay, to keep an eye on whatever was about to happen, but Rick was already pulling her off to the side, "Get everybody to the church. We're going to have to do this fast."

Sasha glanced back to Negan, who was holding a small notepad in front of Daryl's face, telling him, "When you're finished with the guns, these go next. Start with the Grimes house."

But whatever was on the list, Sasha couldn't see and Rick didn't seem to care as he tugged on her sleeve to get her focus back, "Our best chance to help them is to find those guns so the Saviors will leave."

Sasha nodded as she turned away. With a predatory smile and Lucille visibly perched over his shoulder, Negan offered his right arm to a trembling Olivia, "Right his way, my dear."

Rick was right, Sasha agreed, but she didn't have to like it.

* * *

It wasn't the most comfortable lawn chair he'd ever sat on, but the view it afforded him of Alexandria's main street made the glass patio table and metal chairs decidedly prime real estate. He thumbed casually through the inventory notebook while discretely watching Olivia, who was sitting on the edge of her own seat next to him, hands in her lap in a white-knuckled grip that couldn't be comfortable. Still not speaking to her, he ripped a page out of the back with a slow tear just to see what's she'd do. _Fucking Christ, she's a twitchy thing. Probably more than half-way to pissing herself._ He pulled a pen from his inner jacket pocket and casually scrawled a note on the torn page before folding it and sliding it, and the pen, back into his leather coat.

"Olivia, may I call you Olivia?" Negan turned his attention to the quivering brunette sitting next to him. _Jesus, this is going to take some serious fucking patience._ "Relax. Despite my reputation which I'm sure has been the topic of many a conversation recently, I don't actually enjoy killing. Well, not women, at least. I have done it, of course, and will probably have to do it again, but you're safe for today. I just find that Rick Grimes needs a very particular fire lit under his ass to get him moving at my preferred rate of hustle, and I do have other places and things on my to-do list for today. So," he brought his hands down on the table and Olivia jumped as if she's been slapped.

_Oh for fuck's sake…_ He tried to keep a look of impatience from sweeping over his face. _Give me the kid with the one-eyed stink-eye and a gun in my face any day. This is fucking ridiculous._ In what he hoped was his most soothing voice, he tried again, "Look, I'm not going to hurt you, alright? I have some questions about the inventory. You seem to be the one in charge of said inventory, which makes you the best person for answering said questions. I ask, you answer, just a simple give-and-take. That's it. That's all I want. Okay?" _Fucking Hell, it's like talking to a three-year-old!_

"Okay." Shaky, but at least it was a verbal response. He'd take what he could get at this point.

"Good! Now we're getting somewhere." He held up the composition notebook, "This right here, this is the only inventory, correct?"

An affirmative nod.

"And you're the only one who writes in it?" Another nod. "So anyone who wants something, they have to go through you?"

"That's right."

_Actual words, holy mother of God. It's a fucking miracle._ "So tell me how this works. Say I want to get a gun from the store room. What do I do?"

He watched her body language more than listened to her words as she explained her process. The more relaxed he could get her to be, the more effectively he could get her to be of use to him. And like it or not, since Olivia was the one Alexandria was most comfortable with when it came to their supplies, he was stuck dealing with her. _At least, for now._

The more she talked, answering his little follow-up questions, the more her posture improved. Bit by bit, keeping her focused on her area of expertise and keeping his own voice soft and calm, he watched Olivia shift into a more comfortable position in her chair, saw through the glass table-top as her hands released their death-grip, even saw them pop above the table's edge to gesture as she spoke.

_Just about there_. He had a gift for reading people, knowing who needed a threat to push them along (i.e. Rick _Fucking_ Grimes and his equally stubborn son), and who would be more motivated by an easy smile and a bit of charm. _I think we're ready._

"Olivia, I think you're doing a great job here. This is thorough, it's up-to-speed, you've clearly put in a lot of time and thought to your process. I believe in giving credit where it's due, and I think a lot of these people here wouldn't be alive today if you weren't so organized with all this." _Gotta give praise before criticism, spoonful of sugar and all that._

"I just have two things, observations really, you know, just an outsider's perspective. And the first, I think you've already picked up on. Someone here is taking advantage of your good nature, working your system. And I'm sure you would have caught it, the two guns, we just happened to get here before you could correct it. I don't have any set ideas on how to fix this for the future," _other than letting Lucille take the hands off the motherfucking thief who steals from his own people_, "but it's something you might want to discuss with Rick, or someone else you trust and can bounce ideas off of. I'm not here to change how Alexandria handles internal issues. I just want to be sure that your problems don't become my problems."

"You could leave, stop coming in and taking our things."

_Ooh, lookie there, she's got a backbone after all!_ He kept the pleasant smile but his eyes shifted to something a little more predatory, "That's not going to happen. Your people killed my people. And when I sent scouts to find out more, to narrow down who the real threats were, you killed even more of my people. That's not cool. And you're gonna have to pay for it. You could pay in blood, like old Eugene, but as I look around, y'all really don't have that much blood to spare, do you? Not for the 30-plus lives you took from me and mine. So what's the answer? How do we keep rule of law and find a way to move forward without just killing each other until no one's left standing? The most humane solution I can see is that you pay back your debt with goods and services. You become contributing members of the new society we're building. Which, by the way," he went back to a more cheerful tone. _And here comes the pitch,_ "brings me back to my second little take-away from looking over this inventory. It's incomplete."

Olivia bristled, sitting up a bit straighter at the insult. Negan let his shoulders drop just a bit, a visual cue that he was backing down, even though he wasn't going to do anything of the sort. _Easy does it._ "No, no, now don't go getting all offended. I meant what I said earlier, what you've got here is great, fantastic even. If I wanted to know _anything_ at all about the food situation, or the weapons, this book you've got is the fucking Bible."

"But I can also see from this list, and from what I saw of all those empty shelves in your storeroom, that taking your food would be a huge burden, maybe more than you people could handle. Hilltop ought to pitch in, they helped get you into this mess after all, but what if they can't? Or don't? What if you could pay back your debt to me without going even more hungry than you already are? I told Rick earlier today that there was a ton of good stuff here, and I meant it, but none of that is here," he tapped the notebook.

"Today has been a big damn headache for all of us – going into homes, everybody getting all riled up and emotional. All of that could be avoided in the future if I could just come to you and say, 'this is what we need', and you pull out your handy-dandy notebook and tell me where to go and get it. The way I see it, Olivia, you are in a uniquely powerful position to make all this easier on your friends and neighbors. It also makes things easier on me which, I'll admit, is more important to me than your peace of mind."

Olivia's slight eye-roll didn't bother Negan as much as others might have thought. _At least she's relaxed enough to stop twitching like a fucking bunny rabbit. And she's listening._ "So what would it take for you to build a complete inventory of everything Alexandria has? I'm talking furniture, knick-knacks, books, the whole kit and caboodle?

Olivia's eyes were on the table, but he could see the wheels-turning expression on her face. _Question is, is she thinking about how to answer or is she deciding whether or not to do it?_

"A whole lot more notebooks, that's for sure." She seemed to be talking to herself rather than engaging with Negan, but he ran with it anyway.

"Sure, notebooks!" he replied with enthusiasm, "We can get you some of those. Actually…" he purposefully trailed off and began tapping his fingers absently on the table as if deep in thought. He made a show of looking around, "There's got to be somebody… Tyler! My man Tyler, come here," he beckoned with two fingers to a Savior passing by.

"The trip to Culpepper, all that shit we picked up for the school, didn't some of those crates stay on the truck?"

"Uh, yeah, boss, I think there are still a few boxes we didn't pull."

There was no "trip", of course, and Negan ran too tight a ship to have valuable supplies just left on random trucks, but Olivia (and anyone she would undoubtedly discuss this little exchange with) didn't need to know that he'd been anticipating a need to get more detailed information from his newly-acquired gold mine. _And I sure as shit am not doing all the grunt-work myself. Not when these people can do it for me and be fucking grateful for the opportunity._

"Olivia here needs notebooks. Go get a couple of the boys and pull – "he turned back to Olivia, "What do you want? More like these?" he gestured to the composition notebook. "Or the spiral kind? Binders maybe? I don't know, you're the expert here. What's going to work best for you?"

"I guess binders might be easier. I can keep adding things in and move them around until I figure out how I want to organize everything," she replied uncertainly.

But Negan had already jumped on the idea and was turning back to the man waiting behind him, "Binders, lots of binders, whatever we've got. And a couple of reams of paper. And those colored tab divider things… you know, just grab it all, and Olivia can sort through it on her own, figure out what she wants. Oh, and an envelope. Gotta little something I want to leave for Rick." Negan patted his jacket pocket.

As the Savior walked away to follow orders, Negan turned back to Olivia, "Are you thinking of doing this more by category, or by address? We need some kind of color-coding, maybe? You strike me as the type who had a different colored notebook for each subject – "

But he stopped short of his next thought as he watched all the color suddenly drain from her face, and then heard soft footsteps coming from around the side of the house they were next to. _If some fuck-faced idiot is about to undo all my hard work, they're about to have a really bad fucking day._ But when Negan turned to see what had his new supply clerk so spooked, his eyes lit up and his grin widened in genuine glee.

"Well hello there, gorgeous! And who might you be?"

* * *

Rick was just about to send everyone to their homes to start searching when Enid burst into the church.

"Rick, I'm so sorry, I thought Carl was… she just…" she couldn't get her thoughts together and Rick grabbed the teen's shoulders to steady her.

"Enid, what are you trying to tell me?"

"Negan has Judith."

* * *

**Like it? Please review! Don't like it? Review anyway!**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Arrival, Part III

"I'm Judith," the girl spoke with a soft lisp and ducked her head down shyly as she snuggled against a stuffed elephant that had clearly been loved a lot, but she had a small smile on her face and was twisting back and forth so her skirt would flair out around her leggings and her wispy blonde curls brushed her cheeks.

Altogether it made for a pretty cute picture that had Negan genuinely smiling. "Well, hi Judith. I'm Negan. Is this your Mommy?" he pointed to Olivia, who sat stiffly in her seat behind him.

"No, that's Ms. 'livia. Have you seen Bubba?"

"I can't say that I have."

"He said he would play with me, but then he didn't. And now I can't find him."

From the edges of his vision, Negan could see the blue of Rick's shirt as the man hurried towards them, but kept all his attention on the child in front of him. _This should be interesting_. "Well, I'm sorry to hear that. But you know what? I would love to play with you. You can sit right here with me and Ms. Olivia," he offered as he pulled the third chair across the grass until it was right next to his and helped the small child into the seat, "and we'll think of something fun to do. Hello, Rick," he looked up to see clear panic in the man's eyes, "Did you find my guns?"

"Not yet," he began but was cut off with a brightly exclaimed, "Hi, Daddy!"

Negan's growing smile made his cheeks hurt, but he didn't care, too excited by this turn of events, "Oh, my goodness! Is this your Daddy?" His words were directed to Judith but his eyes stayed locked with Rick's.

At the girl's happy "Uh-huh!" he gasped, "_Rick!_ How in the F-U-C-K did _you_ end up with such an adorable kid? Seriously, man, _something_ skipped a generation here. Oh," his grin dropped in a parody of concern, "she doesn't take after the milk-man, does she?"

Something flashed in Rick's eyes, an instant, uncontrolled reaction Negan decided to file away for later. "And that must mean… Oh, here comes Bubba!" he pointed to Carl but mock-whispered down his new little friend, "He wouldn't play with you?" He _tsked _and shook his head in exaggerated disappointment before looking back at Carl with a knowing grin, "Were you supposed to be babysitting when you decided to have your little stare-down with me and my boys? Oopie-daisy."

"Let her go," Carl warned. This time, Rick didn't bother to be subtle, putting a firm hand on the teen's chest to push him back and stepping forward to fill the empty space in front of Negan.

"I apologize for her bothering you." Rick transferred Lucille to his other hand so he could reach out to his daughter, "Come on, Judy, we've taken up enough of this man's time."

"Not a chance." Negan's expression was dangerous for an instant before shifting back to gleeful eagerness. "She's no bother. Why, Judy here is my new best friend, and we're going to sit right here and get to know each other while you find my missing guns. In fact, we were just about to have ourselves a little tea party. What do you think, Princess Judith? You, me, and Ms. Olivia can enjoy the sunshine with something cool to drink and maybe color some pictures together."

"Can we have lemonade? Mommy made some this morning."

"That sounds absolutely delicious! Carl, why don't you be a good big brother and go fetch that pitcher of lemonade and some glasses for us? See if you can scrounge up some crayons and paper, too. Your Dad's got his hands full. You know what?" he turned back to Rick, "You should leave Lucille here with me. Might make your search go a little faster if you didn't have her to keep up with."

The words might have been phrased as a suggestion, but Negan's outstretched gloved hand left no room for argument. Even through the glove's thick leather and stitching, Negan could feel the faint tremor in Rick's fingers as he handed over the barbed bat. _Good_. He deliberately shifted in his seat to turn partially away from Rick and put his attention back on Judith, "This is Lucille, and she is awesome! She keeps me safe. You don't mind if she joins us, do you?"

The child shook her head and Negan's grin was back in full force, "And are you going to introduce me to your friend?"

Judith was eager to share, "This is Bethie, she keeps me safe, too."

_Too fucking perfect!_ It was all he could do to not give away his best-kept secret. He laughed, "Wow! That is _The Best_ name for an elephant I have ever heard!"

"Thanks, Uncle Daryl found her for me."

"And did he help you pick out the name?"

"Uh, huh," she nodded excitedly.

"Well, that just makes her even more special, now doesn't it?"

Just then Carl brought out the drinks and coloring supplies, all but slamming them down in unconcealed and barely-restrained rage.

"Careful there, Big Brother! We wouldn't want to break anything – people could get hurt."

Judith had been startled by her brother's behavior but Negan redirected her to start unpacking her colored pencils. "Can Bethie color with us, too?" she asked.

"Of course! We can't leave Bethie out, now can we? Let's give her a special spot right here," he set the stuffed animal on the table. Knowing that Rick and a few others were still standing by he couldn't resist adding, "Princess, I wouldn't leave Bethie behind for all the world."

* * *

"You're not seriously just going to leave her there with him?" Carl all but growled at his father.

Tyrese, Abraham, Sasha, and Glenn had waited for Rick and Carl to join them at the front of the subdivision after he'd run out of the church to get to Judith.

Rick rounded on his son, temper flaring now that they were far enough away that Negan wouldn't hear, "We don't have a choice! And if you'd stayed with her like I told you to, this wouldn't be happening, so stop it."

"Is she okay?" Glenn asked, his hand on Rick's arm in both reassurance and restraint.

_Breathe_. Rick sighed, pushing his emotions back down so he could get on with what had to be done, "She doesn't understand that anything's wrong, and Negan's playing nice, for now. But the sooner we get the Saviors out of here, the better. Did anybody own up to having the guns after I left?"

"No one, but Spencer and Rosita aren't back yet from where the Saviors sent them to get Daryl's motorcycle, and Eric never showed up," Sasha supplied.

"He did, actually," Glenn revealed. "He came in the back, looked around for you," he nodded to Rick, "And then came to me when he couldn't find you. Real cagey about it, I got the feeling he didn't want to talk in front of everyone, just said it would be nice if you brought Judith by for a sleepover tonight."

"Something happened that he doesn't want to share with the group," Abraham inferred.

The rest nodded in agreement. "Alright, we can deal with that later. Finding the guns and getting everyone through this with no losses is the mission right now, agreed?"

At everyone's nods of assent, Rick gave orders, "I know people are checking their own homes, but we need to coordinate, so everybody takes a street. Glenn, go down to Newbury Court – I know half the houses are empty, but if someone got it in their heads to stash a few weapons in case Negan did something like this, an abandoned home would be a good place, and you've got a knack for finding things others don't." _And it puts you at the far end of Alexandria, away from Negan in case your emotions get the better of you,_ he kept to himself. "Abraham and Sasha, take the main road, one at each end and work your way towards the middle. I've got Oxford Circle; Tyrese, you take Climbing Arch," he pointed to the first cul-de-sac near the front gate.

"What about me?" Carl asked.

"Go home, stay out of sight. Do not come back out until they've all left."

"No way! I'm not just going to hide while – "

"Actually," Tyrese interrupted, "I could use an extra set of eyes. All those townhouses at the top of the safe zone have a lot of nooks and crannies, and we should probably check the watch towers as well."

"Alright," Rick gave in. "But you stay away from the Saviors, all of them."

"Fine," Carl muttered darkly before stalking up the road.

When it was just the two of them, Sasha leaned in to Rick, "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking I'm going to tear this place apart until we find those guns and get my daughter back, and I'm thinking I know just where to start."

* * *

"Hey, hold up!" Tyrese grabbed Carl by the shoulder and pulled him around the side of the row of townhouses, using them as a shield to have a private conversation with the angry teen.

"Look, I get it," he half-whispered as he cornered Carl against the building's brick facade. "You're pissed off, and worried, which makes you even more pissed off."

"You don't – "

"No, I really do. I know a little something about being afraid for your baby sister, wanting to protect her and feeling like you're the only one who can, feeling like you're not doing your job. Wish I could tell you it gets easier when they get strong enough to start fighting for themselves, but, if anything, it makes it worse. There were times growing up when all I wanted was to roll Sasha in bubble-wrap and lock her in the house for the rest of her life if that's what it took. But I couldn't do that, and you can't either. And every time you lose your cool with these guys, they're the ones who win, not you."

"But Dad… it's like he's just… just _taking it_, like he's… I dunno," Carl confided. "I have to do something. Someone has to do something. It's like he's given up."

"No one's giving up," Abraham emerged from the side of the stretch of townhouses to join the quiet but intense moment. "Not a single damn one of us. And definitely not your old man." He draped his arm over Carl's free shoulder so that both men had him boxed in.

"Rick is responsible for more than just himself or his family," Tyrese added. "He's got an obligation to protect every single person here. He can't go flying off the handle every time Negan pokes at him, or a lot more people could get hurt before we're able to beat this guy."

"And we are, we're going to beat the ever-loving shit out of him, and every single motherfucker who's stupid enough to stand with him," Abraham vowed. "But we underestimated our enemy, and we can't afford to do that again. So we lay low. We gather intel. We bide our time. Let Negan think he's won for now, let him drop his guard. And when the time is right, I will personally beat his face into the ground until there's nothing left."

Carl swallowed, a little intimidated by Abraham's rage. "So Dad…"

"He knows what he's doing," Tyrese's voice was soft but carried confidence.

"Kid, I have to ask, was it you?" Abraham interjected. "The guns? I'd get it if it was, even get not confessing in front of your Dad, God and everybody. Thought about doing it myself. But if you're the one who stashed them, we need to know."

Carl shook his head, "Didn't even think of it. Should have, though."

"No, you shouldn't," Tyrese warned. "We have to think about the big picture, and two guns aren't going to make a difference against a whole army of Saviors."

"They are if we use them to kill Negan," was Carl's reply.

"I like your style, kid, but put a lid on it. We've got a long war ahead of us, can't be sacrificing our best soldiers in the first skirmish."

"And Dad's really just playing along? He's got a plan?"

"Come on, you know better than to doubt that," Abraham grinned, "Don't you remember our first time coming together? We fought back against those Terminus bastards with nothing but splinters of wood and our own grit."

"But if there's a plan to fight back, why hasn't he said anything to me, to any of us?"

"Oh, gee, kid, I don't know, you think maybe because you keep shooting your mouth off every time one of these sons of bitches gets in your face? Stop letting them bait you and your Pops might actually be willing to trust you with the important shit."

Carl nodded in understanding, his face and posture calmer and more at ease.

"Good, now, I know I said I wanted you searching with me, but where we really need you is up in the watch tower. The guns are here somewhere and they'll turn up. But if Michonne gets back before Negan leaves, she'll need a heads-up on what's happened. And it would be a whole lot better coming from one of us than her accidentally walking up on Negan and Judith."

Carl's eyes widened, "Yeah, I didn't think of that. She'd freak."

"Exactly, and we're not going to do that anymore, are we?" Tyrese leveled a look at the teen.

"I got it, I'll keep cool. As long as there's a plan."

Tyrese waited until Carl was climbing the tower's ladder before muttering to Abraham, "You actually believe any of that bullshit you just said?"

"About Rick having a plan for these fuckers? 'Course not," Abraham scoffed. "He folded. Yeah, he talks about finding Maggie and Daryl and Aaron, but not one word about how to beat these bastards. Michonne, Sasha, and I have been going over it. They've both got faith in him like you do, thought we might could talk him around if we got at least one of the others back first, but now that Negan knows about Judith, can hold her life over his head? Rick's done, no way he's risking his little girl."

"Give him time. Rick's a good man, and he's gotten us this far. He might be a little lost inside himself for now, but I've known him a while longer, and I've seen him lower than this. He fought back before, he can do it again," Tyrese was confident.

Abraham remained skeptical, "Then he'd better do it soon. Daryl looks like shit, fuck only knows what they've done to him already, and they aren't likely to stop. And we've got nothing on Aaron or Maggie. They both could be dead already and we'd never know it. The longer we wait, the stronger Negan's choke-hold is going to get."

"Let's just get through today. Negan's promised an update on Maggie, and Rick was going to try and negotiate at least one of them being released. Let's see where we get and then we can make plans from there."

"You mean the update where Negan says whatever the fuck he feels like and we have to swallow it without any proof he didn't dump her corpse on the road as soon as they drove off?" Abraham dismissed Tyrese's hopeful notion with a derisive snort. "Fine, but don't expect me to sit on my hands forever," Abraham warned. "If Rick's not going to step up and lead this fight, then maybe Alexandria needs a new leader who will."

* * *

Any sense of calming down Olivia might have had was long gone, but at least her fear was tempered by her anger. _Jerk, weaseling information from a four-year-old, tricking her into sharing things about us – he's got no right!_

But if Negan noticed that she was only halfheartedly going through the office supplies his men had brought for her to peruse, he gave no sign of it. His full attention was focused on Judith. Not too long after Rick had left to search for the missing firearms, Negan had pulled the child onto his lap, a constant banter of conversation flowing between the unlikely pair as they worked through a series of pictures together: _'Can you draw a picture of your family?', 'Let's make a story about Bethy… what do you think she does when you're not watching her?'_, or the latest, which had been gleefully suggested when Olivia had tried to convince Judith to go play at Luke's house, _'We should draw a picture for your Uncle Daryl! I can take it to him while he's away. What do you think he'd like?'_ Of course, the unsuspecting Judith had been more than happy to color pictures with her new friend, whom she'd dubbed 'Mr. Negan'.

By Olivia's reckoning, it took far too long for Rick to produce the missing handguns, but Negan didn't seem to be bothered at all, merely accepting them with a smile. "Lookie there, Princess Judith, your Daddy found what he was searching for! That helps me an awful lot."

"'Course, Daddy always helps," the girl declared.

"Yes he does," Negan affirmed with a smile. "But that also means it's about time for me to go. I had a lot of fun today, I hope we get to do this again sometime soon."

"Yeah, and we can make more pictures for Uncle Daryl!"

"You betcha, it's a date! Run on inside, see if Bubba will play with you now. And don't you worry," he added, folding the drawings and sliding them into his jacket pocket. "I'll make sure these get where they need to go."

"Bye Mr. Negan!" Negan waited until the girl had disappeared around the corner before standing with an exaggerated stretch, taking up Lucille, and starting up the road towards the main gate. Rick kept pace while Olivia and a few others followed behind cautiously.

"Where were they, my guns? Just out of curiosity."

"Does it really matter?" Rick hedged.

Negan considered for a moment, "I suppose it doesn't. You brought them back, and on time. That matters. Not bad, Rick," he continued. "Not too fucking bad at all. You came through. And your daughter is fucking adorable. Seriously. You're a lucky man. Your boy's great, too, of course, when he's not being a pain in the ass. But _she is precious_! Gonna give you all kinds of hell when she's old enough to date," he smirked. "But that's a worry for another time. I think today went well as first meetings go, don't you? You're welcome."

Rick gave a nod in return, but Negan wasn't satisfied. "No, no, Rick, come on! At least we know now where Carl gets his shitty manners. You and I both know that today could have been so much fucking harder on everyone. Could have pulled the whole motherfucking town down on their knees, given them a practical demonstration of what you and your little band of brothers went through a few nights ago. Instead we were polite, civil, fucking pleasant, even! I took time out of my day to entertain your little girl, fucking covered for you so you could clean up your little mistake. Which, by the way, you have yet to fully explain to me, but I fucking let that slide, too. All I ask in return is a little common fucking courtesy. So, let's try again. You're welcome," he prompted.

"Thank you."

"There we go. Gratitude. Now, was that really so hard?"

Rick shook his head slightly before taking a step forward. "Now that you know we can follow your rules, I was hoping… I wanted to ask if Daryl could stay. He'd be of more use to you here, helping us provide for you. And as you can see, he means a lot to Judith."

Negan's smile was knowing, "Oh, not just to Judith. I was wondering which one you'd ask for first, how long it would take you to work up the nerve. Interesting. Daryl!" Negan beckoned with two gloved fingers for Daryl, who had been standing near one of the trucks, to approach. "Not sure you could hear what's going on from all the way over there, but Rick here has a question. Rick?"

Olivia was sure she wasn't the only one holding her breath as Rick asked again, "Please, can Daryl stay?"

Daryl stood still for a moment, a slight movement where he chewed on the inside of his lower lip the only sign he'd heard the request, before he slowly and deliberately turned, putting his back to Rick.

"Well, you tried! I think we've had enough fun here for one day. Let's load up," Negan directed to the Saviors.

But Daryl's return to the back of the convoy truck was interrupted with a shout, "Uncle Daryl!" and only a quick sweeping motion from Negan caught the girl up in his arms before she could plow into Daryl's legs.

"Oh, my goodness, look how fast you are!" he praised as he tossed her gently into the air and swinging her around, discretely nodding his head to Daryl as a sign to get on-board while Judith was sufficiently distracted. "Somebody really needs to teach your big brother a thing or two about babysitting, because he is absolutely terrible at it!"

"That's my Uncle Daryl," the four-year-old was not appeased.

"I know, and I'm sure he's very sorry he missed seeing you today. But do you know what I like best about your Uncle Daryl?" he tapped her on the nose to pull her focus back. "There's a lot of good things about him. He is super-cool, which is probably why you miss him so much, am I right?"

She nodded with a pout, lower lip sticking out. "And he's a hard worker, does a LOT to help out, which is why your Dad says he misses him. But that's not what I like best about him; anybody can be a hard worker if they want to be. What I really, really like about your Uncle Daryl, is that everything he does, it's to keep the people he cares about safe. And I have a feeling that you" he gently poked Judith in the chest, "are one of those very special people."

"But I miss him," she sniffed.

"Of course you do! But remember you made him that special picture today, with the trees and the sunshine, and I just know that's going to brighten his day. I tell you what, you make as many pictures for him as you want, and when I come back, we'll pick out the best one, okay?"

"Okay," she sullenly agreed.

Olivia watched with clenched teeth as Negan asked for and received both a hug and kiss from Judith before he set her down and sent her running back to her house. And if she was this unsettled by the exchange, she couldn't imagine how Rick must be feeling.

"Negan?" In all the focus on Negan's conversation with Judith, no one had seen Eric join the group. His face was pale but determinedly set as he walked up to the Saviors' leader. "I wanted to thank you. You didn't have to do what you did, what you let Aaron do, so, thank you, for making things easier for our son." And he put out his hand, which Negan took for a firm handshake.

"You're welcome," he was surprisingly sincere. "And I appreciate you making the effort, going out of your way like this. I'm sure it isn't easy for you. See, Rick?" Negan turned to Alexandria's leader, who, like most of the onlookers, was clearly confused by the exchange. "Gratitude. That's what it looks like. You could learn a thing or two from your friend here."

The Saviors were all in their vehicles and Negan's hand was on the passenger-side door of the lead truck when Glenn couldn't hold back any longer. "Wait! What about my wife? You promised! I though you said you were a man of your word!"

The man stepped away from the truck with a sigh and strode up to stand inches from Glenn. "I promised, did I? You're right, I did make you a promise. What did I say? If everything goes smoothly, I will tell you about your wife and child, isn't that right? You tell me, Mr. Rhee… shots fired, guns aimed at my people, guns that fucking disappear and reappear like a goddamned rabbit in a hat… what part of any of that sounds fucking smooth and uneventful to you?" Negan had apparently run out of patience as he leaned in closer to snarl in Glenn's face. "Don't ever call me a liar! I am a man of my word and when I say I'm going to do something, I'm going to fucking do it!"

He stepped back to make sure all the Alexandrians gathered could hear, even though his words were still directed at Glenn. "I came here today fully prepared to give you an update on the missus and the unborn rugrat. Even tell you what steps you'd have to take to earn the right to see her again. And everything was on track right up until Rick Junior decided to test just how fucking serious I am about how things work here now. I didn't fail to keep my word; Carl fucked you over! You be sure to thank him for that."

Negan surged forward until he was within an inch of Glenn deliberately measured his words in a half-whisper, "You want a promise from me? Here it is: If anyone here ever, and I mean EVER, threatens one of my people again while they're doing their job, I'll let you see your wife. I will haul her in front of you, put you both on your knees, and you can watch while I slowly gut her open," Negan pulled a hunting knife from his waistband sheath and slid the edge along Glenn's cheek, just under his widened eye. "I will toss your baby's corpse on the ground in front of you. And when your wife bleeds out, I will do you the mercy of holding you down next to her so that, when she turns, she can take you with her."

Negan held Glenn's gaze a moment longer before stepping back and returning the knife to its sheath. He turned to Rick and grinned, "That was intense. Not how I'd planned to end our visit. I actually had a bit of a magic trick for you, a little something fun to lighten the mood, leave things on a high note. But now, I'm thinking that might not send the right message. So, Miss Olivia!" he called out but never turned away from Rick, "When I leave, please be a dear and give Ricky that envelope I slipped your way earlier. Got a neat little surprise inside. Feel free to share, others might find it amusing, too. As it turns out, and this will make more sense when you read the note, I don't actually need to know if I'm right. Because, in case what's happened here today has escaped you," he put his hand on Rick's shoulder and leaned in to whisper in the man's ear, "I just slid my dick down your throat. _And you_ _thanked me for it_. That right there is enough to keep me satisfied until our next visit." He patted Rick's cheek in mock affection before walking back towards the convoy of trucks.

"I guess you could say I did give you something of an update on poor Ms. Maggie. You know she's alive, or I wouldn't have made that particular _promise._ Until next week," he gave a mock salute to the group before hopping into the front seat of the truck and gesturing for the convoy to move through Alexandria's gates.

* * *

They were barely a mile down the road when Daryl felt the lurch of the convoy coming to a stop. And since everyone else in the back of his truck was getting out, he supposed he was meant to as well.

"Everything from this list," Negan ripped the paper from a small spiral notepad and passed it to Dwight, "goes in my truck. Check it twice."

"Making a side-trip, boss?" Simon inquired. He'd walked over while the rest of the Saviors began swapping and reloading the supplies as directed.

"Yep, and so are you. Daryl," he snapped his fingers and beckoned him forward, "Front and center."

Daryl stood silently in front of Negan, eyes down just like the man had said. _Just a bit longer, just gotta get through and not fuck up._ His only focus was getting to Beth tonight. Beyond that, he had no real plan – figure out how to escape and take her with him, find Maggie, get back to the others, all of that was a vague afterthought of course, but none of it could happen until he knew she was really alive and reasonably alright. And that meant playing along with Negan's stupid rules for the time being.

Negan got in his face, expression carefully considering as he sized Daryl up before breaking into his signature smirk, "Which part of that was hardest? Not reaching for that _beautiful_ sweetheart of a niece when she ran to you? Watching her give me the goodbye hug and kiss that was meant for you? Or turning your back on her Daddy, which, I guess by extension really means, oh… you just turned your back on your brother?" He let out a low whistle.

Daryl remained silent as the question seemed rhetorical, but Dwight came up behind him and slammed the butt of the crossbow into his leg, forcing him to his knees with a grunt, "Answer him, asshole!"

Sheer stubbornness kept him quiet a moment longer, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of obedience. _Beth, get to Beth._ He took a chance, "Thank you, for distracting Judith," he finally ground out softly, eyes still on Negan's boots.

It was a response without actually answering the question, but Negan seemed satisfied enough, chuckling as he replied, "Oh, you're very welcome! That little cutie-pie is something special. Definitely going to be keeping my eyes on her!"

Daryl bristled at the thought of this bastard being anywhere near _his_ Lil' Asskicker again, but he kept his mouth shut and stayed on his knees. _Get to Beth,_ was the mantra that kept him going today. _You can knock every single one of his teeth down his fucking throat later, but first, get to Beth._

Negan's focus was on Simon now, "Send the rest of this shit back home, but you take your crew and head over to Hilltop. Got a message for Gregory I want him to hear before Rick and Company have a chance to chat with him again."

"Sure, what do you want me to say?"

"I want you to say," Negan pulled the radio from where it was clipped to Simon's belt and slapped it in the man's open hand, "that I'm on Channel 8."

"You know any message you need delivered, I got your back," Simon was both confused and concerned.

Negan put a comforting, brotherly hand on his top soldier's shoulder, "Simon, I trust you with my life. More than that, I trust you to handle the sheeple at Hilltop. But that smart-ass, two-faced motherfucker of a politician has crossed the line, and I think, for this, he needs to hear directly from me."

Simon nodded, "You got it."

Negan squeezed before dropping his hand. "No worries, I won't be long, probably beat you back home. Besides, Daryl here is going to keep me company."

Negan kicked at the dirt near Daryl's knees, "You. Up. We're going on a little road trip, and you're driving."

Negan took several steps toward the white box truck before realizing that Daryl wasn't following and turned around, "Oh, what? Did you think you were done for the day?" he laughed, "We're just getting started."

* * *

**As long as Daryl behaves himself, we'll all get to see Beth next chapter. Until then, please review...**


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I really appreciate the feedback and try to answer all your questions (without giving anything away, of course!). And now, without further ado...**

* * *

Chapter 6: Arrival, Part IV

Rick had wanted to ask Eric what he'd meant by his cryptic comment to Negan, but the man had slipped away before the Saviors had left, so he turned his focus to Olivia instead. "Are you alright?"

The woman nodded, "He didn't hurt Judith. Just played with her right there at the table, asked her questions, but she wasn't scared or anything."

Rick smiled softly and stepped closer, even though most of the people who had gathered were slowly trickling back to their own homes, "I'm asking about you."

Olivia breathed a deep sigh, "I'm okay," she replied but with a slight shake to her voice. "I'm going to need your help, though, before he comes back."

"What does he want?"

"A complete inventory. Everything in every house, garage, shed, the church. All of it, right down to the number of forks and knives."

It was something they'd talked about before, both just the two of them and as a community. But each time the idea of cataloging everyone's possessions had come up, it had been rejected. Most of the people who had been at Alexandria from the start had managed to keep, if not their homes, at least a majority of their personal belongings, and that's how they viewed them. Not belonging to the community as a whole, but to the individuals and families. But it seemed that notion was going out the window now – everything they had was now potentially Negan's for the taking.

"We'll delegate it out, every family can inventory their own house and turn the lists over to you. We'll get some folks to help you put everything together, separate it all into categories from there."

"And how will we be sure that everyone is being thorough?"

He knew what she meant – who was going to check behind the people they suspected would try to stash things away?

"Those of us who have more adults in their homes can _help_ those who might need a few extra sets of hands to get the job done. And I can assign a leader to each street, like I did today with the search, just as a back-up."

Olivia agreed, "Thanks. No offense, but I don't exactly want to find out what happens if my inventory comes up short a second time."

"We won't let that happen," Rick promised.

"It's not your fault, you know," she added softly.

"Still my responsibility." He shifted topics, "What is it that he wanted you to give me?"

Olivia reached into her back pocket and pulled out a folded envelope. "I didn't get a chance to read it. He wrote it before Judith came over and then sealed it up as soon as his men brought over the supplies."

"What supplies?" Rick asked with interest.

"Notebooks, paper, things to make it easier for me to get the inventory together quickly."

"Sounds like he came prepared," he noted wryly.

"He said something about it all originally being for a school?" She was uncertain, "I don't know, that's about when Judy came around the corner and I was hoping she'd walk by without him seeing…"

Rick waved it off, "It's alright. Not like he wouldn't have found out about her and all the other kids eventually."

He tore through the envelope's seal and pulled out the folded piece of notebook paper. Negan's cursive was surprisingly neat:

_Those two guns aren't all that twat Spencer Monroe had squirreled away in his own private stores, were they? I'd keep a close eye on him if I were you. Your boy, too. Kid's going to be more trouble than he's worth if you can't get a handle on that._

_But if we all had to pay for the stupid shit we pulled as teenagers, there'd be none of us left. So tell Asian Baby-Daddy that if he's looking for a little light reading, he should do some research on ovarian cysts and the complications they can cause for pregnancies._

_And no, you can't have your Daryl back. I told you, he's mine now._

Rick scowled. _Dammit._ The guns _had_ been at Spencer's house, hidden in the floorboards along with several expensive bottle of liquor and cans of food. It irked him that Negan had put it together with little-to-no extra clues, and Rick couldn't figure how he'd done it. Or how he'd known that Rick's first priority among the hostages would be Daryl. He was used to being the one able to read people and situations, and he didn't like it at all that Negan had the upper hand.

"Is it bad?" Olivia asked.

He'd almost forgotten she was there. He shook his head, both to answer and to clear his thoughts. "Nothing I shouldn't have expected, I suppose. You need any help getting whatever he left for you inside?"

"No, the Saviors already moved everything."

"Alright, go home, try to take it easy for the rest of the day."

"Will you?"

Another head-shake, "Think I'm going to check on Carl, see if Michonne's back, maybe take Judy over to Eric's. Let the kids have a play-date. If anyone asks…"

"Much-needed family time, got it," Olivia smiled.

"Michonne and Carl are headed to your house now, actually, Abraham just met them at the gate and is walking with them," Sasha supplied as she walked up to the pair. "And Tyrese is with Glenn, working on getting him calmed down."

Rick nodded grimly, remembering Negan's violent promise. If he'd been in Glenn's shoes, he'd be more than a little shaken by the brutally specific threat. "I should probably – "

"Stop right there," Sasha put a restraining hand on Rick's chest, "We've got this. None of us is going to get through this alone. Go home, spend a little time with your family, get your mind right. I think that playdate/sleepover idea you mentioned earlier sounds good. Maybe a few of us will swing by later, check in on Eric, keep him company for a little while."

Rick could read between the lines, _Group meeting tonight, only those we trust._ And not that he didn't trust most of his community, but when things went sideways, there were just certain people he'd rather have in his corner. And others who needed to be protected. He eyed Olivia before making a decision, "Why don't you join us at Eric's later on tonight?"

Both she and Sasha were uncertain, "Are you sure?" Olivia queried.

"Yeah," the more Rick thought about it, the more he felt that this was the right call. "After everything that happened today, I think you probably need to unwind more than most anybody here." _And after all that time you spent with Negan, I need to pick your brain. Anything could be the slightest advantage that tips the scales back in our favor._

* * *

They weren't even five minutes into the drive and Daryl was already gripping the steering wheel to keep from punching the man next to him. Almost as soon as he'd pointed Daryl towards interstate 95-South, he'd pulled out an iPod and connected it to a cassette-tape adaptor so he could blast Queen's "Fat-Bottom Girls" on the truck's stereo.

"I know it's rude as shit, but the whole damn time I was sitting there with Olivia, it's like this song was on permanent repeat in my brain. Just had to hear it!" He rolled his window down and alternated between humming and whistling along while tapping his fingers to the beat on the baseball bat's grip where it was situated between his legs.

_It's like Merle,_ Beth's voice came to his mind unbidden as he navigated down the highway. The long-abandoned cars had all been pushed off to the sides, creating a clear path down the middle of the two-lane highway, a clear indicator that this was a frequently-used route. _Pushin' your buttons just to see what sets you off_._ Makes him feel safer._

It was one of the first conversations they'd ever had, just after the Governor's initial meeting with Rick. Even though they had all spent the winter on the road together, Daryl had seen no need to talk to Hershel's youngest. He'd had his hands full trying to keep everyone safe and fed, and Beth had been just another hungry mouth. But when they'd come back and heard that Merle and Glenn had gotten into a fight that Beth had been forced to break up by firing a round into the ceiling, Daryl had pulled her aside afterwards. "He say anything to you?" he knew just how crude Merle could be and had already had to warn his brother more than once about the way he'd leered at the women in their group.

Beth had surprised him by rolling her eyes and smirking, "Of course he has. He's _Merle_. What'd you expect?"

"Dammit," Daryl had growled. "I'll make him leave you be from now on."

But she'd laughed outright at that, "No, you won't." But she'd gotten serious then, "Daryl, it's fine. Come on, look at me. Curly blonde hair and big blue eyes. Even lookin' like a twig, you really think Merle Dixon's the first country boy to cat-call me? It's a good thing Maggie and Shawn both graduated 'fore I got to high school. They'd've been in fights every day to hear what the boys used to shout down the hallways. Merle ain't got nothin' to say to me that I ain't heard before. He's harmless," she'd declared.

At Daryl's derisive snort, she'd qualified, "Alright, at least he's harmless to me. Merle's just… some people've always got their backs against the wall, you know? And they figure if someone's gonna pick a fight, it might as well be them who swings first. Can't know what to hit if they don't know what'll hurt the most. So he pushes buttons til he finds what makes 'em tick. Merle's just one of those."

Daryl had taken a swig from his canteen to hide his feelings. Even after being accepted by their group, he wasn't used to people reading him and his brother so well, or being so understanding about his brother's foul mouth and quick temper. She had shrugged her shoulders before adding, "But if it makes you feel better to say somethin' to him, at least then maybe he won't slip up around Maggie and she won't cut his balls off, keep him from furthering the Dixon family line."

He'd choked and sputtered to keep from spitting water to hear _that_ coming out of Hershel Greene's baby girl. From the red flush in her cheeks, she'd been just as surprised at herself as he was. Being a gentleman (or as much of a gentleman as anyone with the last name Dixon could be), he'd tried to cover their mutual embarrassment, "Cuttin' down the Dixon family tree is probably the best thing that could ever happen to it."

Now, the more he considered the comparison, the easier it was to unclench his hands from the wheel. Negan might be a dangerous, unpredictable unknown, but Daryl had made a lifetime career out of putting up with his older brother's hijinks, and if he could keep that association in the forefront of his mind, he would likely find it easier to tolerate Negan. Assuming he didn't forget himself and say something beyond stupid in response to one of Negan's off-color remarks. He sent a mental thank-you to the girl he hadn't seen in more than two years but who was still giving him solid advice from somewhere deep in his subconscious.

"I said, do you have any requests?" Negan waggled the iPod in his hand. Apparently, he'd been trying to get Daryl's attention for a while.

_Way to be observant, idiot._ He shook his head.

"You sure? Wrong music can make for a long fucking car ride. What'll it be? Classic rock? Country? Broadway show-tunes?" Negan grinned.

Daryl snorted at the last category, "Can't imagine you'd have any of that in there."

"You'd be surprised." Thankfully for Daryl, Negan spun the music player's wheel and set it on a random mix of rock songs that were at least mildly tolerable.

"Hang a left up there," Negan pointed to a road that branched off from the highway. From the pattern of cars, it seemed the preferred path was not to take the exit overpass but rather to cut across the grassy divide and meet up with the new road on the other side of the highway. Daryl noted a fading sign marking the turn for Fredericksburg and tried to make a mental map in his mind for later use. The new road was smaller than the interstate but mostly clear of cars as it followed the river Southeast towards the coast.

"Come on, Daryl, say something! Supposed to have deep, meaningful conversations on road trips."

_Get to Beth. Just play along and get to Beth._ "Alright… how'd Beth end up with your people?"

"Well fuck, figures you'd ask a question I can't answer. Not 'cause I don't know, mind you. But I promised I'd let her be the one to tell you that story. But since you've brought her up, what's the deal with her and big sister Maggie?"

"Don't know what you mean," Daryl hedged. "They're sisters, what's to know?"

"A couple of nights ago, Beth came to me, _very_ interested in my plans for you, for Aaron – "

"What do you mean, Aaron?"

"Oh, that's right! You probably missed that, being in the back of the van already… Your good buddy Aaron 'volunteered' to tag along with us as well. Think of him as kind of a goodwill ambassador of sorts. Don't go worrying, his situation is nothing like yours. But anyway, when I was sharing some details about Miss Maggie's condition, I thought I'd do something nice for Beth, offer her a pass to go visit her big sister, have a little family reunion. And do you know what that sweet blue-eyed angel did? She turned me down. Here I am telling her that her sister was practically ringing Death's doorbell, and _Bethie_ doesn't even bat an eyelash. Now what in the holy fucking fuck is up with that?"

"What would it have cost her to say yes?"

"Nothing she hasn't paid before," Negan's grin would have made the Cheshire cat proud. "And very willingly, I might add."

Daryl bit his tongue to keep himself from asking, from giving voice to the horrible idea Negan's response implied, but he was saved from having to continue the conversation by a crackling static on the long-range radio.

"Negan, this is Simon. I have Gregory for you."

The music was shut off and Negan sat up, suddenly all seriousness. "And is it just us?"

"Yeah, boss, his office door's shut."

"Good. Gregory, do I have your full attention? Because this is important, and I need to know that you're really listening here."

"I am, and before you say anything, I just want you to know that I had NO idea what they – "Negan abruptly switched to a different channel. "Whichever one of you is closest to that stupid fucking office go in there and tell Gregory to shut the fuck up and get his fucking thumb off the speaker button before I have Simon cut it off and toss it to the first walker he finds."

He switched the channel back and was met with soft static. "Right, I should have mentioned that this is not going to be that kind of conversation. See, I stopped rolling through your gates precisely because I was fucking sick and tired of all the diarrhea of hypocritical bullshit you squirt out of your face-hole, and nothing about that has changed. No, this is the kind of conversation where you shut your fucking mouth and you fucking listen. You must think I'm some kind of goddamned moron if you actually believe that I don't know that Rick fucking Grimes only ended up on my doorstep because you sent him there. Now, I don't yet know how you knew about that particular outpost, and it really doesn't fucking matter. You and I both know that you are way too fucking smart and way too fucking good at playing politics to not see Rick Grimes for the simple-minded mad dog on a leash that he is, and you let that dog loose to shit in my back yard. And now, we both have a problem. I gotta get him back on his leash where he belongs, and you gotta clean up the shitty mess he's left behind."

He gestured for Daryl to stop the truck in the middle of the road before continuing, "It didn't have to be this way, Greg. I'm not the one who couldn't keep his end of the bargain. You fucked up, then and now. But even though it would have made things a whole lot fucking easier for me, I kept my mouth shut. You think, just for minute, about how bad shit would get for you if that mad dog of ours knew what truths I'm real fucking sure you didn't tell him before sending him my way."

"Thought you were a man of your word," Gregory took advantage of Negan releasing the speaker button.

"Is that's what you're counting on, Gregory? Is that what you think will protect you, help you keep that cushy office with your clean suit jackets and your fat belly full of food?" Negan's voice was soft, but the threat was audible, and Gregory, it seemed, had the good sense to not try to interject again.

"You've made this bed, and now you're going to lie in it," Negan declared after a moment's silence. "So when Alexandria comes to your gates asking for the food you promised, you let them in. You will give them whatever they ask for. I'll know it if you don't. This is not part of the half of your harvest that you owe us, it is in addition to your regular contribution. You don't like it, you know what you have to do to make this all go away. Until then, nothing stops."

Negan shut the radio off completely and turned to Daryl, "About a quarter mile up the road, you'll see a moving van sitting in the middle of a field. Pull up next to it, put the truck in park but do not under any circumstances shut off the engine."

"You gonna explain what that was about?" Daryl risked asking as he pulled the truck into the grass.

"Nope. And keep both hands on the wheel. These people can get a little trigger-happy."

* * *

"I can't believe you just did that! What the hell are you thinking?" Michonne hissed as Rick got Carl more comfortably situated on the couch and eased the hair back from his sleeping face. Or, more accurately, Carl's sedated face. After the family had spent some quality time entertaining Judith with a few rounds of Candyland, Rick had suggested their dinner be an indoor picnic. What he didn't tell anyone was that he was slipping some of the last of their pharmaceutical grade pain meds into Carl's lemonade. Just like when he'd been recovering from surgery after losing his eye, the drugs had him out within minutes.

"We need to have a meeting once Judy and Luke are settled in for the night," Rick said by way of explanation.

"And your thought process for that was, 'let's drug our son'?!"

Rick sighed, "If I tell him to stay away, he'll just try to eavesdrop. And I can't bring him in. Carl's a lot of great things, but a great liar isn't one of them. And with Negan so damned fascinated with him…"

"So now your plan is to sedate Carl every time we need to talk with the others?" The sarcasm practically dripped from her words.

"Of course not. I already feel like shit for this, okay? I just…" He braced himself against the kitchen island and hung his head low, "I just don't know what to do," he confessed.

Michonne gave him, and herself, a moment before she leaned sideways against the counter-top and put a comforting hand at the small of his back. "Here's a thought: try asking for help."

Rick nodded but still didn't face his wife. And since he wasn't looking, he missed the playful grin on her face. "Preferably before we turn our teenage son into an unwitting pill-popping junkie. You think his mood swings are awful now? Take it from someone who's seen it before: withdrawal's a bitch."

He didn't have to turn for her to feel his body shaking in suppressed laughter.

* * *

Daryl carefully kept his body still as the truck was surrounded. All women, all armed, and all angry. "You're late. And you brought someone." The woman pointing a spear-gun through the open passenger-side window jabbed it in the space just under Negan's chin, but he didn't flinch. "You come alone, that's the deal. No outsiders!"

"I apologize for making you wait. It was unavoidable. And I would not violate your terms if I didn't think it was important," Negan's voice was calm, every word measured. His whole demeanor was completely different from the man who had practically cackled while reducing Eugene's face to a mash of blood and bone. Was different from the straightforward, civilized man who offered cigarettes and spoke about wanting to protect his people. Was completely different from the Negan who had laughed and twirled around with Judith earlier that day. _How many different versions of him are there? And how are we supposed to know which one is the real Negan?_

"I'm opening a relationship with Alexandria," Negan began but was cut off.

"What's it to us?"

"Nothing." Negan was firm. "Except that I've learned some of them have a penchant for violence, and I promised to help you find the ones who attacked your people. This is one of theirs. Take a look. Anything about the name Daryl Dixon sound familiar?"

Daryl sat perfectly still as two approached from his side of the truck and one used the tip of her spear to push aside the hair falling over his face. They studied him for a moment before each shook her head. From Negan's side of the truck, Spear-gun Woman shook her head as well, "Not him. And the only name they used was yours," she sneered. "Could be others from his group, though."

Negan put up a restraining hand, "Daryl is their strongest fighter. If he wasn't there, it wasn't them. Alexandria is under my protection now."

_Protection's a real funny word for it,_ Daryl thought derisively, but kept his face impassive.

"Alexandria doesn't need protecting from us. We're not the ones who go around raiding other people's villages."

"No, but you are looking for the raiders who killed your men. And now you know they're not at Alexandria," Negan's voice was as soft and measured as it had been throughout their conversation, but there was a weight to it now, a clear warning that the women acknowledged with a nod.

"We have what you asked for. Do you have ours?"

"Everything as promised. If you like, we can – "

"No, we'll do it ourselves. You'll stay where we can see you."

As most of the group moved to the back of the two trucks to begin swapping supplies from one to the other, Spear-gun (_be nice if someone used a name or two_, Daryl thought) came in closer to Negan's window. "Just because Alexandria's under your protection now doesn't mean we won't kill any one of them who trespasses our borders."

"Understood. And I would never deliberately send anyone your way. But I can't tell them not to scavenge around here without also telling them that there's a community here to get pissed off about it." Negan tipped his head to the side with a calculating stare. "Has someone crossed into your lands recently?"

"One, less than a week ago," she acknowledged, "A woman, said her name was Tara Chambler, that she was from a community that needed help fighting an enemy. Wouldn't say where her place was or what it was called. She also seemed to think you were dead."

"Well, thankfully, that's not the case," Negan quipped. "Did you kill her?"

"Not yet. Knew you were coming and figured we'd do you the courtesy of letting you see her first, verify that she wasn't one of yours, or at least wasn't important to you."

I appreciate that." Negan turned slightly to look at Daryl from the corner of his eye while the woman beckoned towards the woods. Two more emerged from the tree-line marching a bound and blind-folded figure between them. As they pulled her over to the truck, Daryl could see that it was, in fact, Tara and that, aside from a few minor scratches, she seemed to be in good shape.

At his raised eyebrows, Daryl gave a small nod of acknowledgement.

"Do you ladies mind if I have a word with her?"

"She's not deaf. Talk."

Negan smiled and waited a few beats until one of the guards scowled and pulled the blindfold from Tara's eyes.

Tara squinted against the late afternoon sun but turned her attention to Negan when he addressed her, "You're a long way from home, Ms. Chambler."

"Who are you?" Daryl could see her shifting to get a better look at him before he remembered Negan's rules and dropped his gaze to the steering wheel.

"I'll give you a hint: I'm not dead."

Daryl heard her sharp intake of breath and saw Negan shift forward to lean out the window. "If they let you live, I strongly suggest you get yourself straight back to the safe zone. A lot has changed in the time you've been away."

"What did you do?" she snarled.

But Negan didn't bother to answer her, instead turning his attention to the woman who seemed to be the leader of this harsh, all-female group, "I would never presume to tell you what to do with your prisoner, but if I may make a suggestion? If you let her live and send her back to her people, she can carry a message of warning from both of us. Your community and the lands surrounding it are strictly off-limits to Alexandria. Not only will you freely kill any one of them that ever crosses your borders, but I will consider it a direct violation of our agreement, and there will be consequences." He leveled a harsh glare at Tara.

While the women stepped back and circled around for a quick discussion, Tara stepped forward. Her hands were still bound behind her back, but that didn't stop her from leaning in. "What did you do?" she repeated. "Daryl?" she tried to get his attention, but he'd come too far to blow it now. Frustrated, she turned her gaze back to Negan and stared him down, "Why is Daryl with you? What have you done?"

"Your friends back home can explain it to you. But the fact that Daryl is here ought to be a big fucking clue as to what I am capable of, what I can still do to you and yours if you don't fall in line like the rest of them."

The leader returned. "We'll let this one go in the morning. But anyone else who trespasses gets shot on sight. We won't care where they're from." The others jerked Tara back and retied the blindfold over her face before forcing her back towards the trees. Daryl's only physical reaction was to flex his fingers against the steering wheel.

"Agreed." Negan reached with slow, deliberate movement for the notepad he'd tossed on the truck's dash as they had pulled in and yanked a page from the front. "What would these be worth to you?"

She took the paper and flashed it to the others. Unspoken conversations flashed through the women's eyes before the leader turned back and reached out her hand. Negan wordlessly handed her a pen and watched her scribble a few lines before tearing off the bottom portion and handing it back to Negan, who quickly scanned the list and nodded in agreement.

"One month," she set the timeline for their next meeting, "And no more surprise guests."

* * *

Eric took quick steps down the staircase and back to the living room, where Rick, Michonne, Sasha, Tyrese, Abraham, Glenn, and Olivia were waiting, perched on whatever chairs they could find after the couch filled up. "We've probably got an hour, two at the most before the nightmares start."

"That bad?" Michonne inquired with concern.

"I'm hoping with Judy here that he'll stay in his bed tonight, but, yeah… it's been rough. And honestly, I don't know if this," he held up the notebook with Aaron's letter, "is going to help or hurt in the long run. It was all I could do pry it away from him just now."

Luke had gleefully shared his news about his Papa writing to him to each person as they had come over for dinner so, thankfully, Eric was saved having to recount the day's events.

"Before you share that," Rick began, "we all need to understand that nothing we say here can leave this room. We need Negan to believe that he's won, and the more people who are involved in this, the greater the risk. That's why, tomorrow, I'm going to sit Carl down and tell him that we have to accept the Saviors' rule."

"Jesus, Rick, Abe and I just finished telling him that you're not giving up and that you've got a plan," Tyrese broke in.

"I know, and I'm grateful that you got him focused so we could get through today. But Carl has no poker face, and Negan has taken too much notice of him already."

"Well, you're not wrong there," Sasha acknowledged.

"When the time comes to fight back, I know Carl will be right there with us. But for now," Rick looked to Michonne, who nodded in solidarity, "protecting him is protecting the group."

"Fine, but just because he believes we're dragging our asses doesn't mean we can actually afford to drag our asses. No matter what I said to your kid today, the longer we wait, the harder it will be to get rid of this fucker," Abraham warned.

Eric interjected, "Then this is a place to start." He held up the notebook.

After he finished reading Aaron's letter, the group began sharing their observations.

"At least he isn't locked up or being hurt," Olivia noted.

"And it is a big building," Glenn remarked. "We guessed that right. No mention of Maggie or Daryl, though. You think they're both being held somewhere else? Or are they there and Aaron hasn't been able to find them?"

"Daryl is there, Maggie is not, but Aaron's gotten word that she's okay and he trusts the source," Eric confirmed. At everyone's silent stares, Eric got a little cheeky, "Oh, you didn't hear me read that part? Good. Let's hope that means Negan didn't see it, either."

"Feel free to start making sense anytime now," Michonne deadpanned.

"Before y'all came along and Daryl started joining us, Aaron and I were the only people who went out looking for folks to bring into the safe zone. But just because we found someone didn't always mean they were the sort of people we wanted in our community. Sometimes we could tell before ever meeting them. Sometimes, we'd think they seemed alright until we got to talking with them. We needed a way of talking _in front of_ them without talking _to_ them."

"You have a code," Tyrese realized. "You have a code, and he's using it."

Eric nodded and laid the notebook open on the coffee table. "It looks like he just spewed out on the page whatever came to mind. But these pen marks here are where he kept pausing, collecting his thoughts, figuring out exactly what words to use. And it sounds like a letter to a six-year-old. And it is, mostly. But if you know what to look for, there are some interesting bits of information sprinkled in as well."

Everybody leaned in as Eric gestured to the appropriate lines, "It's a multi-story building, but Aaron only has access to the ground level and first floor. Daryl is being held there, but Aaron hasn't been able to explore beyond the areas he's allowed to be in, so he doesn't know exactly where. And Maggie is somewhere else entirely, but if he knows where, he isn't saying so here, only that she's alive and that, whatever was wrong with her, she's recovering."

"Ovarian cysts," Rick interjected. He pulled out the note that Negan had left for him earlier and laid it on the table as well. "I don't know what they are or what they do to a pregnant woman, but that's the clue he gave."

"Isn't a cyst like a blister that grows inside you?" Olivia posited. "And if the inside of it is liquid, it goes away on its own, but if it's solid, it could be cancer?"

"Woah! That's a big freakin' leap between 'it'll go away on its own' to 'your wife may have cancer on her… lady… whatevers."

Sasha mock-glared at Glenn, "Ovaries, Glenn. Every woman has them. You grew up with sisters, for crying out loud! And you and Maggie are _clearly_ sexually active. Ovaries, ovaries, ovaries!" she snickered has the blush in Glenn's face spread to the tips of his ears.

The laughter was exactly what they needed, a release of tension after everything that had happened.

As the group recovered from their mirth, it was Michonne who pointed out, "We should probably research this in an actual book instead of taking random guesses. We could start with Denise's medical textbooks."

"I'm thinking we ask an expert. Make a trip to Hilltop first thing tomorrow and ask Dr. Carson."

Glenn nodded in gratitude at Rick's suggestion. "Thanks, man. I know I've been an ass the past few days and that we've gotta think big picture, but – "

"She's family." Rick cut him off. It was all the explanation anyone in the room needed.

"Just finding the Sanctuary isn't going to be enough," Eric warned. "Aaron's not specific, but the size of the group he's hinting at here is a lot bigger than we are. Beyond that, he focuses the rest of his attention on certain people, and we've got good news and bad news there."

"You're the expert," Tyrese encouraged, "Take us to school."

"When it came to decided whether we trusted someone, the key to the code is in the other names we used. You might remember us talking when we first found y'all out on the road, sharing stories about the people you'd meet once you got here."

"Vaguely," Rick admitted. "We weren't exactly at our best."

"Don't worry," Eric revealed, "Most of them weren't real, anyway. Aaron and I would make up stories, people even, to tell each other what we thought of the group we were leading in. The key's in the names, and it's a scale of trustworthiness. In general, if we used a name that started with a vowel, we liked them, a consonant if we didn't. If we used real names from Alexandria, we trusted at least something about them, although we could still use a name beginning with a consonant if we were willing to bring them in, but didn't exactly plan on making friends afterwards. When we found you, for instance, I told you that you'd meet our community's leader when you got there and went on and on about how much I thought you'd all get along, but I didn't use her name. I did say she had two sons, that her oldest, Aiden, had been studying law. Aaron's take-away from that is that I not only trust you enough to bring you in, but I like you as well. If I hadn't, I would have mentioned Spencer's name instead of Aiden's."

"Real member of the community but his name starts with a consonant – you don't think we're serial killers but you're not planning on inviting us over for dinner just in case," Glenn followed his line of logic.

"Right. So there's that scale, and then there were certain names that were very specific messages. And Aaron's using them here," Eric flipped to the second page of the letter. "He describes this doctor lady he met on the first day as a cross between 'Ouiser and Olympia Dukakis' character in _Steel Magnolia's_'. The way the two brothers who brought the journal to me bicker back and forth reminds Aaron of his cousins Matt and Kori. And there's three other names on the page: Negan, Clyde, and Savannah. There's no specific cue with Savannah, other than that she's Negan's wife. And associating Negan with Clyde means that Aaron really, really doesn't like this guy."

"Well, no shit, Sherlock! Aaron seriously wasted time and ink to tell us that!" Abraham huffed.

"No, this goes beyond anything you're thinking. Aaron was out there with you, he saw what you saw. And he's going out of his way to tell us that there's something beyond what we already know that freaks him out. Look, you see the pen swipe through the paragraph? Looks like an accident, something someone in a rush would do. Except Aaron never does this; I do. Curse of being left-handed – I smear the ink with the side of my hand, sometimes the pen catches on the page when I'm moving to start a new line. Drives Aaron nuts, he's always wanting me to be more careful. It's a couples' quirk, I guess. For Aaron to make this and to make it exactly this way, he had to turn the notebook upside down."

Eric took a breath before launching his conclusions, "I think Aaron's drawing battle lines. There's a division within the Saviors. Maybe just a small one. But it's no accident that, on one side of this line, you have Negan with the code name – which I'm getting to – and on the other, you have the doctor and the two brothers. And the line goes directly through Savannah's name, and I think that's deliberate, too. She's literally straddling the line, like Aaron's on the fence about her, or maybe she's on the fence about Negan. But these code names he's using are specific and personal, we hardly ever used them with anyone else. _Steel Magnolias_ is our favorite movie. We've seen it, like, 5000 times. We can quote every line. There are multiple copies of it in this house and hard copies of the script in both our emergency bags. Not only did he pull two names with vowels to describe this doctor, but both are callbacks to that film. Aaron _beyond_ trusts her. She's done something that makes him believe that, if it came down to it, she'd be in his corner. And it's the same with Connor and Murphy. Matt and Kori might be names that start with consonants, but they're a special case. When Aaron came out to his family, there were a lot of… let's just say not everyone was thrilled. Old world traditions combined with a Southern upbringing and the conservative values that tend to come with… Kori was the kind of cousin you only see at family reunions, and Matt was her newly-wed husband. Aaron had no real expectations from them; they just happened to be at the holiday gathering when he told the rest of the family. But they didn't just accept him, they embraced him. They opened their home to him, helped him find jobs near them so he had an excuse not to go home between semesters in college. They went with him to his first gay bar so he'd have a wing-man. The most difficult time of his life, these were the people who had Aaron's back. He could have used any names. These names are a sign – he's not just making friends, he's building alliances."

"And Clyde? What's up with that?"

"Any of you have that one relative that was just this side of 'not right'? Made people uncomfortable, stared a little too long, hands on shoulders when you didn't really want them there, jokes that weren't appropriate, weren't really jokes at all. Especially around the women, or the kids? Nothing anyone could prove, but everyone just… knew. That's who Uncle Clyde was to Aaron. And just like the others, he wouldn't use that name without a reason. There's something about Negan that creeps him out, more than just being the leader of the Saviors, more than being the one who killed Eugene, more than the one who's holding him prisoner. Something about Negan that makes Aaron's skin crawl."

* * *

"You must have questions." Negan prompted as they headed back the way they came with the sun dipping low on the horizon. Negan offered another hand-rolled cigarette.

_Seriously… _Daryl breathed deeply. Of course he had questions, thousands of them, and almost none of them were ones he wanted to ask the man fiddling with the iPod next to him. _Fine, guess we're back to pretending to be buddies,_ Daryl grumbled internally and tried to think of what might not be the most obvious way to go about getting information. "Would you have turned me over to those women if they'd thought they recognized me?"

"Without hesitation. And then would have offered my services bringing down Alexandria's walls so they could finish the job. But I knew it wasn't you they were looking for… well, I was 95% certain it wasn't you." He grinned.

Daryl ignored the verbal jab. _He cusses a lot less when he's not trying to show off._ "What're they asking for from ya?"

Negan kept his eyes on the notebook he had balanced on his knee as he scribbled absently, "Nothing new, really. Some lengths of chain to reinforce their nets. Arrowheads and spear tips, which we can forge. Fresh produce. They're set up on the coast, hard to grow a lot of things in sand. But they bring in more fish than they knew what to do with before we started trading. Truth be told I don't really need them, but a little smoked sea bass is nice to have now and again."

"And their men?"

"That little bedtime story would be the real reason for our little expedition." He closed the notebook with an audible snap and tucked it away before settling back in the truck's bench seat. "After the first winter, we started branching out, looking for other survivors. Found quite a few little pockets of humanity left over. Some more useful than others. Wasn't until end of summer when we came across Briar's Creek. Small group, 40, 45 at the most. We watched them for a couple of days. Not every group that banded together did so out of the goodness of their hearts. But they seemed on the up and up, so we made plans to reach out. Maybe bring them into the Sanctuary, or start up a trade if they wanted to stay put. Maybe all it'd be was letting each other know that someone else out there had made it. But then my baby boy got sick, real sick. Well, not technically mine, but I'd married his mother, so… Didn't have a doctor back then. Even if we had, no way I was leaving his side with the fever as high as it was. Few days later, we knew he'd pull through, but Claire, his mother, she was still freaked out. Gotta keep the wife happy, am I right? So, Simon and a few others went in my place. But when they got there, all they found were burnt out buildings and mutilated corpses."

He flicked the end of the cigarette out the window and popped the glove compartment. The plastic bag inside had several homemade granola bars. Negan broke one and offered half to Daryl, "Eat, you look like shit."

"'Course, Simon called it in and I rode down to see for myself. The men, all the bodies were only the men. Fighters. Old men. Boys. Even a baby. All murdered by someone living. But the women were all gone. Took me several months of solo trips to find that little seaside village, put two and two together. Even more weeks of negotiations before they finally told me what had happened. The group who'd attacked in the night, butchered all their men. Raped the women and some of the girls. Told them, from then on, they'd be making regular trips and that, if they didn't want to lose more people, they'd have something interesting to offer them each time they came around. Next morning, after the bastards had left, the women packed up what they could carry and lit on out of there. Set fire to everything they couldn't take with them as a final 'fuck you' to whoever came back."

"Woman with the spear gun said it was your name they used, the only one they heard that night."

"Quite the conundrum, isn't it? Take that left up ahead." Negan stretched. "When we get back, you will not mention where we went or who we saw. To anyone. Not even Beth."

"What, don't trust your own people?" Daryl was pushing it, he knew. But if there were fighting within the Saviors' numbers, that was an advantage worth knowing.

"I trust them with my life," was Negan's quiet reply. _But not with this information_, Daryl inferred.

"If you don't want me telling anyone about them, why bring me here at all?"

"Had to make certain it wasn't you and yours who killed off all their people, didn't I?"

"Nah…" Daryl decided to call him out. "You already said that you were sure it wasn't us. Earliest Beth could have gotten to your group was two years ago, so you already know we weren't even in Virginia when this Briar's Creek was hit. Why did you really bring me out here?"

"Why indeed…" was Negan's only response.

They rode on in relative silence for about ten minutes before Negan told him to slow down as they approached a relatively clean house on the side of the road. As they eased past, Negan waved to the two armed men sitting on the porch.

"East-side check point, we're nearly home. Which means you've just about made it through your day. And you did well. Better than I expected." They paused at the gate until a Savior on watch opened it so they could pull through to the garage and park. Daryl shut off the engine and waited for instruction. _So close._

"Which is why I have another offer for you."

_God dammit._ Daryl'd had enough of this little field trip. Sunshine and fresh air be damned, he just wanted to go back to his cell because that's where he'd see Beth. But Negan seemed incapable of running out of things to say. It grated on Daryl's last nerve.

"I already said I wasn't joinin' you. I'll do what I gotta for Beth. Ain't gonna run, or fight, or do anything like that. I'll stay in that damned box and let you use me against Rick, but I ain't gonna kneel. I ain't Negan."

"And I respect that," Negan acknowledged after rolling up the window to give them some privacy. "I really do. If you had dropped to your knees this morning, declared yourself fully on board, 'Team Negan', I would have accepted it because that was the option I gave you. But I wouldn't have trusted it."

"So it was all just another test," Daryl surmised.

"_Just_ is such a dangerous word. Nothing is _just_ anything anymore. But yes, I was testing you. A lot of men in your position would have chosen the more comfortable way. It'd be self-preservation, really, if you've fully accepted that you're never leaving this place alive. But you're a man of honor, principle. You've got your code and you stick with it even when, and maybe especially when, it's not the easy way. If it makes you feel better, you did exactly what Beth said you would. My fault for not believing her, I suppose. After all, I am _intimately_ acquainted with how well she can read people, really know them deep down inside."

_Don't react. Don't give him that._ "If you know I'm not gonna change my mind, why bother with another offer?"

"This offer is different from yesterday's. I'm not offering to let you join us as a full-fledged member of our community. That would be an insult to your honor, and I just got done telling you how much I respect you. No, you are a prisoner, and you will serve out your time for your crimes against my people. This offer is about what that prison sentence looks like. Yesterday, I told you that your only options were total betrayal of Rick, or solitary confinement. You chose the box. Honorable. Done."

Negan turned sideways in the seat to fully face Daryl. "This is not a test of your character. Either way you choose, my people get the satisfaction of knowing that you and all the others are paying for what you did at that outpost. But after watching you today, both when I had you trailing after me like a like a sad little puppy and when I had you doing the heavy lifting… You seem like the kind of guy who would rather be busy than be bored. So here's your choice: You want to stay in the box, stay in the box. It'll be just like I told you, nothing but you and your thoughts, aside from your daily chats with Beth. Or, you work. Grunt work, the shit jobs no one else really wants. It'll be like Alexandria – no talking, no interaction, just you doing as you're told. But, it gets you out of that cell, at least during the day. And you still get to see that sweet little lady every night. Totally up to you, purely a matter of preference. So, what'll it be?"

"I'll work." It was an easy choice. He wasn't afraid of hard labor or getting his hands dirty, and any time he had outside that cell was a chance to learn the layout, find the Sanctuary's weak spots. Besides, Daryl knew firsthand how dangerous it was for him to be alone with his thoughts for too long.

"Alrighty then. Congratulations, Daryl, you made it through the day."

* * *

Aaron was not expecting to see Negan standing on the other side of his door but covered his surprise as best he could and invited him in all the same. While he'd seen him at a distance, this was the first time Aaron had directly interacted with the man since that night on the road. But the leader casually glancing around the room bore little resemblance to the leather-clad monster who had murdered Eugene and terrorized the rest of their friends. Sporting a white t-shirt whose short sleeves revealed a couple of older tattoos and a comfortably-fitting pair of jeans, Negan could have been any one of a number of average men. Even the ever-present Lucille was left leaning against the door frame, mostly out of sight. _But definitely not out of mind._

"Doc says you seem to be settling in alright, but I wanted to check in with you myself," he explained as he made himself at home on Aaron's couch.

"Yes, thank you, everyone has been very kind." Aaron sat on the other end of the cushion and tried to keep his outward appearance calm and casual.

"Good. I realize, of course, that this situation is far from ideal for you, but I'm not interested in making your time here, however long or short it may be, unnecessarily unpleasant."

Aaron nodded, not knowing exactly what to say in response.

"I assume by now you know we made our first contribution run to Alexandria today," Negan continued. "Your boyfriend went out of his way to thank me personally for allowing you to keep in touch. I appreciate that, his level of respect, courtesy. It's the kind of thing that can go a long way to finding a kind of peace between our communities."

Aaron nodded again. _Diplomacy. Build a relationship. _"I want to thank you as well, just wasn't sure when I'd have the chance. I know that things could be a lot worse for me, for my family, for all of us, and you'd be well within your rights after what we did… How we treat our enemies says a lot more about us than how we treat our friends."

Negan looked mildly impressed, "Yes, it does."

Aaron continued, "'Finding a kind of peace'… is that what you see for Alexandria and the Sanctuary?"

"Down the road, eventually. We've got a lot of shit to slog through first, gonna be a long, hard journey."

"Is that why I'm here?"

"It is. Do you know why I waited a good two months after you hit that outpost before coming after you people?" At Aaron's negative head-shake, Negan answered his own question, "Because I was not going to make the same mistake that you did. You lashed out at what you didn't understand, attacked not only without provocation, but without taking the time to properly find out just what in the fucking _fuck_ you were getting yourselves into."

Negan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and leveling his intense stare at Aaron. "I'm not going to do that. I didn't build all this by jumping in, half-assed, no fucking clue what kind of shit-storm I'm diving into. So I watched. It's not like I didn't know where you were – my trackers had no trouble at all following your trail. You think that one little scouting party that unfortunately, cost your community it's resident physician," and he dropped his head in what seemed to be genuine remorse for a moment before meeting Aaron's eyes again, "was the only time we tried to get a peek behind the curtain? We studied you for weeks – your trips to Hilltop, your little supply runs and scouting expeditions… Do you have any fucking idea how many holes there are in your town's security net? I could level that entire safe zone in an hour if I wanted to."

He sat back, relaxed against the couch cushions. "But I don't. In fact, it's pretty much the opposite of what I want. Because, what I also saw while watching your people, was a lot of potential. Good people. Useful people. Might have to thin the herd a bit, clear out some dead weight, some potential troublemakers. But on the whole, a lot of fucking good shit could be salvaged from this mess your people made. And you are a key part of pulling all this together. I didn't just snatch you up at random, no, I picked you for a reason."

Aaron sighed as he tried to process everything Negan was saying, and implying, "And if I don't help you, I lose my family?"

"Nope, no that's not what I meant at all. I'm not here to force you to tell me anything or make you turn against your own. I don't need you to do anything you haven't already been willingly doing these last several days. You're not here for your people, Aaron. You're here for mine."

"I… I don't understand."

"From what I can gather, you people thought you were taking out some kind of military installation. Don't quite know what gave you that notion… working on it, though," he quipped with a grin before turning serious again.

"Unfortunately, you were wrong. That satellite compound was going to be our next farming venture. And the people you killed… they were an advance team: carpenters, engineers, electricians, and yeah, some security. But mostly just regular people trying to get by. That's a big honking satellite dish on top of that building, had to make sure the roof wouldn't cave in on us. Get irrigation lines set. Soil's good, we checked. And a lot of open field space, good for corn, other grains maybe. A lot easier to do the prep work in the fall and winter, get families moved in first of spring and go right into the planting season. That's what you people slaughtered that night. And all those good skilled workers? They had families. Friends. People who are _pissed_. People who are out for blood. A leader is only as good as the loyalty he commands. So how do I convince all those angry, grieving, vengeful loved ones not to burn your shit to the ground?"

Negan smiled and opened his hands, gesturing to Aaron, "I show them you. Friendly, approachable, a family man. Sympathetic. Someone who can follow the rules, wants to do some good in the world. They're not going to want to kill that. They're going to want to give that a chance. So you see, we want the same thing, you and I. You want to protect your people. I want to _not_ have to kill them. Win-win. And all you have to do is just keep doing what you've been doing. Be yourself."

He stood up and walked over to the small table that served both as a dining area and a desk and tapped his fingers on the open pages of Aaron's notebook. "So I'm happy to let you keep writing to your son. It makes you happy, makes your life here a little easier to bear, and I'm cool with that. We just need to be clear: you are writing to your son, _only_ to your son. I understand that your boyfriend will be reading your letters, too, and that's fine. Family bonding and all that. But there should be _nothing_ in these pages that wouldn't be of direct interest to a six- or seven-year-old. We clear?"

Aaron nodded, "I understand. I'm not going to do anything that would make you want to take this away from me. Just – please, is there any… Will I ever see my family again?"

"That depends on how good you are at your job."

_An answer, but not an answer_.

"One more thing: there is a very specific piece of information that needs to be left out of your letters. And so I need to know right now if you've already fucked up. The Doc, did you mention her at all? Specifically, her name?"

Aaron's stomach was already in knots and now clenched up with fresh fear, "I did mention meeting her," he admitted, "but just how kind she was when I first arrived. I never used her name, I swear… actually, I don't even know it," he realized. "But I didn't know before not to say anything about her and I promise you I won't – "

Negan put his hand up to stop Aaron mid-sentence. "You didn't know. So we're good. But now you do. So you won't. A brief mention in passing, a cutesy little 'hey, my kid might find this funny' kind of story, fine. But you will Never. Mention. Her. Name. Beth, by the way, her name is Beth."

"I'll never mention her name," Aaron vowed. _Why would anyone in Alexandria care about…_ "Wait, Beth – Daryl's Beth?!"

Negan smirked.

Aaron's mind whirled. _Of all the…this changes everything._ "Does Daryl know?"

Negan checked his watch, "I'd say he's finding out right about now."

* * *

He'd done everything they'd asked. He'd passed the stupid tests, followed the stupid rules. He'd even turned his back on his brother. _So where the fuck is Beth?_

He never heard her footsteps, but he could suddenly hear her voice muffled through the door.

"I'm sure everyone feels safer for you standin' guard, but Negan promised this'd be a private conversation."

"I'm not leaving while that door's unlocked." _Fucking Dwight._

"Then one of us has got it wrong, because I was sure Daryl and I would get to talk without anyone else around. So I'm going to go get Negan and ask him to come down here, and he can explain it to the both of us."

Daryl was full-on smirking as he pulled himself to his feet inside the cell. Whatever else might have happened, it seemed Beth hadn't lost one ounce of her fiery determination. _Don't even bother; ain't nobody gonna win an argument against her once she gets riled up_. Dwight, it seemed, had realized that as well; Daryl could hear him stomping away.

And then she was there. Cell door opened and shut again and her arms wrapped around him before he could blink. "Hi, Daryl," she half-whispered against his chest.

He wasn't sure when he started hugging her back, only knew that he was; his nose nuzzled her head, breathing her in, her hair soaking up his tears and stray wisps tickling his forehead as he pulled her in even more tightly.

She smelled the same – a different soap and some herbs he didn't care enough about to identify, but the same _Beth_ scent he remembered from the many 'serious' piggy back rides or from sitting side by side, backs to a single tree as they took turns keeping watch while the other slept. But his hands could feel slight differences in her body. She'd put on a bit of weight, her arms no longer thin and bony but with a healthy muscle tone as they squeezed his sides. Even through the sheepskin vest she wore over her knit shirt (_always did run cold_), he could tell that he'd no longer be able to feel the dimples between every rib. _Eating regular meals at least._ Other changes, too, ones he couldn't quite put his finger on and really, did it matter? She was _here._

"I'm sorry," he whispered tearfully into her hair.

"I'm sorry, too," she whispered back. "What are you sorry for?"

"For not findin' you," he'd thought that much was obvious.

"You didn't leave me behind. You looked for me." There was no question, no doubt. Just a simple statement of fact, and it did more for Daryl than he could have imagined. "And when there was nothin' left to track, you did what you had to. You didn't give up, didn't move on, just… forward."

He didn't know what to say to that and wasn't sure he could talk much through his quiet, broken sobbing anyway.

"I tried to find you, too," she revealed. "After I got away… Knew you were out there. Never doubted that. But I couldn't… So I did what I had to. Moved forward. You mad at me?"

_The hell could she think that?_ He made a scoffing sound, finally finding his voice again. "You stayed alive. All on your own and you…" he trailed off.

"I wasn't alone. Had you in my head the whole time, _Mr. Dixon_," she teased gently, "keeping me going, makin' sure I didn't forget all my huntin' and trackin' lessons. Wouldn't have made it without ya. I'm not mad at you, Daryl. Never was. You got nothin' to be sorry for."

Just like that, she was absolving him of all guilt, but he knew it would be a long time before he was ready to forgive himself. He had too many unanswered questions, too many _what if?_'s, but he couldn't get his thoughts to stop chaotically swirling long enough to think of what to ask first. A thousand nightmares and worries and fears held inside for eight-hundred and… how many days? Suddenly, of all his many questions, that was the one thing he could latch onto. "What day is it?"

Beth gave a slight giggle from where she was still (_safely_) tucked against his chest, "Thursday. March 12th if that's what you're really wantin' to know."

830 days exactly. That's how long it had taken him to find the girl who had gone from being just another mouth to feed to his… well, he didn't know exactly what to call her. Everyone in their core group from Georgia fell under the general umbrella of 'family'. Above and beyond that, Rick was his brother, Carol and Aaron (and Eric, to only a slightly lesser extent) were his friends, Judith was his Lil' Asskicker, and Beth was… he didn't have a label for it. Didn't need one, really. What mattered was that, no matter what it took, there was never going to be an 831st day where he didn't know where to find her.

* * *

**Oh, still so many questions to answer, so many mysteries to solve… All reviews are greatly appreciated!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Thanks to all my readers, and a special thanks to those of you who take the time to review! **

**For those of you in the US, this week is National Teacher Appreciation Week. You can read this, so thank a teacher!**

* * *

Chapter 7: Bonding

It felt like both forever and not nearly long enough when Beth pulled herself out of Daryl's arms to fiddle with something at her side he couldn't see in the darkness of his cell. "I thought this," he could hear the whirring sound of her cranking an emergency lantern, "might help," she flicked it on and filled the small space with bluish-white light. "I can't leave it with you but at least we can see each other while we talk."

Daryl wanted to take in the sight of her, but his eyes couldn't move past the two scars marring her face. They were fairly thin but still sizeable marks, one cutting over her right eyebrow, the other slashing her cheek on the same side, coming dangerously close to her eye and slicing back towards her ear. Growing up the way he had, he knew how hard abusers fought to keep their handiwork from being visible. _If they could do this to her face…_ "What've they done to ya?" he growled, his breathing heavy and every muscle rigidly locked.

She shook her head, "Daryl, it ain't… no one here has ever hurt me. This is from before. From the ones who took me from the funeral home." She stepped closer to him, the lantern at her side casting her face in strange shadows. "I'm not a prisoner here. I chose to walk in, chose to stay."

"Can you walk back out?"

She exhaled heavily, "And go where?"

_Sounds a lot like being a prisoner to me._ But he didn't say it aloud, letting the silence speak for itself as he brushed a thumb over her cheek scar, feeling its raised ridges and wishing he could swipe it away along with all the pain that must have come with it. "They dead?"

She nodded. In the lantern's glow, he could see that her blue eyes held a darkness that wasn't there before, even when she was at her angriest with him.

He returned her nod. That was something, at least, that he didn't need to trek back to Georgia, find the fuckers who dared to mark her, and rip them apart. Because that had definitely been on his to-do list for the past two years. And now that he could breathe just a bit easier he could also allow his eyes to sweep over the rest of her, taking in the softening of her jaw line, the slightly fuller cheeks. She was still thin, tiny even, but she no longer looked frail and fragile as she had seemed to him when they escaped the prison together. There were times in those first few dark days, before he knew the inner steel she carried that could cut through his angry walls, that he'd thought he'd look back to find she'd blown away with the slightest breeze.

But there was something more to her than healthy eating could change. Something… Any other woman would have smacked his hands away, punched him in the face or kicked him in the balls, but Beth just stood there patiently as he put both his hands on her body, gripping firmly under her arms and pressing in against the wool fluff of her sheepskin vest to get a sense of her curves, sliding down her torso, around her hips with clinical precision. It was there, his palms resting on her jean-clad hip bones and his thumbs pressing on her lower stomach that was no longer perfectly flat that the realization finally dawned on him.

"You're a mama." Daryl's voice was soft but carried confidence with a sense of wonder.

Beth smiled softly, "Yeah." Her eyes were brighter, the darker memories pushed away for the time being. "Don't think I'll ever get my body quite back, but…"

Daryl scoffed that notion away. What did he care if she had a few stretch marks? She'd brought a life into the world. He'd never understood why women freaked out over that sort of thing before. She'd had a baby growin' inside her for cryin' out loud, of course it changed her. And if someone had anything to say to her about it, to make Beth feel like she wasn't enough just 'cause she wasn't shaped like a damn Barbie doll…

And then it hit him. If Beth is a mama, then there had to be a daddy. And all the shit that Negan had taunted him with, how _intimately_ he knew Beth, how close they were… _Shit._ Everything just got a whole lot more fucking complicated. "Is he…" Daryl hesitated, didn't know how to ask. "Is he good to ya? He treat you right?" Daryl wasn't sure what he wanted the answer to be. If Beth loved Negan and he loved her back… on the flip side, if that smug-faced bastard had dared make one tear fall down her face, whether he'd laid a violent hand on her or not…

"He…" Beth's confusion was clear on her face as she worked through the questions beneath Daryl's actual words before her eyes widened in realization. "You mean Negan? Oh no. No-no-no-no. Nope, no way. Not happenin'," she laughed. "Negan and I? Um, no. Just no."

Okay, he could breathe again. And probably should. Air was a good thing. He pulled a shaky breath in deep through his nose while Beth continued, "He's asked, of course. Several times, which I guess is supposed to be flatterin'. But no, Negan is, um… I mean we get along fine, and I know how to handle him. Reminds me a lot of Shawn, actually, the teasin' and all. And once I got that in my head… At any rate, even if I didn't look at him and think it'd be like kissin' my brother, I'm not one for sharin'. Not that kind of sharin', anyhow."

Daryl quirked an eyebrow in question.

"Negan's married. With seven wives. There have been more. But seven now. I know it's in the Bible and all, and I know with times bein' what they are… and Mama and Daddy would say I shouldn't judge, that that's the Lord's business… I'm friends with a few of them and they all say it works for them, that they knew what they were gettin' into and they're fine with it. But I just…" She shook her head. "You mind if we sit?"

They both moved to put their back against the same wall, setting the lantern on Beth's other side near the door. "Really need to get some new shoes," she observed absently as she squeezed each foot between her palms while still in her thin-soled sneakers, "Just hard to save up the points with little ones."

Daryl wasn't sure which to tackle first. _Little ones_ meant more than one kid, which meant she had some kind of long-standing relationship, which was fine. So long as it wasn't Negan (which it wasn't). Or Dwight (which it better not be). Or any of the other fuckers who had held their family at gunpoint on the road (which, he admitted, was a possibility). But as long as he treated Beth the way she deserved and she had chosen to be with him, Daryl wouldn't complain, even if he was one of Negan's Saviors. It'd make things difficult, of course. But Daryl promised himself he wouldn't make things awkward. More than two years had passed since whatever they never got to say to each other at that funeral home; and who knows if whatever they might have felt back then had meant anything more than whatever it felt to be the last two people at the end of the world anyway? If Beth had found a way to not be miserable, had found someone who made her smile and laugh and feel happy to be alive, Daryl was genuinely okay with it. But whoever the lucky son-of-a-bitch was had better _know_ how fucking lucky he was to have her smiling because of him, had better do everything in his power to make sure she never had a reason to _stop_ smiling at him, too. Because if he didn't, Daryl wouldn't stop until he'd broken every bone in the ignorant, useless motherfucker's body. And then put him back together so he could break him all over again. And the fact that he apparently couldn't even take care of getting her shoes that didn't hurt her feet was definitely not earning Beth's mystery man any brownie points where Daryl was concerned.

"Can't your husband help out with that?" his tone was more accusatory than he'd intended. _So much for not making it awkward._

Daryl felt her muscles seize up where their bodies met as they sat side-by-side and she had trouble meeting his gaze. "I um… it's not… There isn't any… I mean, there is… Negan wouldn't've stopped askin' me to marry him otherwise, but it's not…"

She kept wringing her hands and her complexion was paler than usual, the blue-white light from the lantern already pulling some of the color from her face and her sudden nervousness stealing the rest. _Jesus, did we kill him? Was her husband or boyfriend or whatever at that satellite outpost?_ It would be his luck, out there trying to do right by his family and ending up hurting the one person he most wanted to protect. Was always failing to protect, it seemed.

"I was pregnant before I left Georgia." She took a breath to steady herself and it seemed she was pulling the air directly from Daryl's lungs. He wasn't stupid. Or naïve. He knew that whoever had driven off in that car with the white cross was no saint out on a late-night ride to rescue random damsels in distress. But Beth had smiled when she thought of her child and she was here and healthy and, for a moment, Daryl had let himself think that she'd somehow escaped with nothing more than couple of scratches and a bad memory or two.

"Didn't mean to be, of course, and didn't know it at first either. It's funny – when I was little, I always dreamed of having children. Lots of 'em, a whole house full. There'd be noise and messes and barely controlled chaos, but in my daydreams I loved every second of it. Saw myself takin' all my little ones to the farm every Sunday after church to play, eat a big Sunday dinner with Mama and Daddy. But I never saw my children's daddy. Knew there was one, fuzzy in the background, but never really put much thought into him. I guess God or the universe has a funny way of makin' our dreams come true. " She turned to look at him now and there was strength and determination in her gaze, "I'm not sorry, Daryl. Whatever else, I'm not sorry for my children. I love 'em and they're my everything, and I'll never be sorry for that."

_What are you sorry for?_ He remembered how she'd whispered that she was _sorry, too_ when she first walked in and wrapped her arms around him. He wanted to reach for her now, wanted to wrap around her again, as if his hug could somehow make whatever she'd been through an easier weight to carry. It had worked on him, at the moonshine still when she'd held him from behind while he grieved. But that was her choosing to hold him up, not the other way around, and anyway, they'd have to move, and he wasn't sure how to navigate that. Beth had always taken the lead with any kind of closeness between the two of them. When it came to physical contact that wasn't absolutely required, aside from Carol's playful shoulder bumps or Rick's hand clapping his back or arm, Daryl had no real experience and certainly no expertise.

It seemed Beth had her own ideas, though. She twisted around until her back was more to him and wedged herself more fully against his side, pulling his arm under hers to wrap around her middle. It was almost a hug, almost like what she had done for him all that time ago, just this side of familiar that Daryl was comfortable enough to rest his hand along her stomach while she kept her hand over his, rubbing her thumb absently back and forth across his knuckles.

The position also allowed Beth an excuse to not look him in the eyes while she softly revealed, "It was… bad. It was real bad. I know that's what you wanna ask about. The ones who took me. I ain't never talked about it. And I don't ever wanna tell anyone else. Just you. But not tonight. There's so much… But one day I'll tell you, and only you. It don't belong to no one else."

Daryl nodded in acceptance, though from Beth's new spot she couldn't possibly see it. As much as he wanted to pull the details from her, he was never going to be the person who tried to force her to relive whatever she had been through. He knew a little something about keeping your pain to yourself, about that being the only kind of power or control you had when everything else was stripped away. She had survived, somehow, and that would have to be enough.

"You said children… more than one?" it seemed a safe enough way to change the subject, given her earlier smile.

"Yeah… did I ever tell you my mama was a twin? And her uncles were triplets? Kinda runs in the family," she chuckled. "Had a boy and a girl. Plus there were two kids bein' held there, and I couldn't leave 'em behind, so, ah… mama of four! Crazy, right?"

"You're a great mama." Daryl was certain.

"You ain't even seen 'em."

"Don't have to. Saw you with Lil' Asskicker, with all them kids that came in from Woodbury. Any kid would be lucky to have you as their mom."

Four kids. He couldn't even imagine it. Surviving whatever horrors had been done to her and then, by herself with unborn babies in her belly and two more kids who were probably scared out of their minds and just as tired, hurt, and hungry as she was, trekking across Georgia, the Carolinas, and nearly all of Virginia. And if she didn't know she was pregnant until she was leaving Georgia, that put her doing all this in the winter, late fall at best. He'd had a hard enough time feeding their family and had none of her excuses. Woman leaning her braided hair against his shoulder was tougher than all of them.

"Can I ask just one question? And then the rest can be whatever you want, but… Who made it? Our family, who made it here? I know I could ask Negan, but… well, that'd be at least ten minutes of my life I'd never get back. Man _really_ loves the sound of his own voice. And I'd rather hear it from you anyhow."

Could she ask… had he done something to make her think she couldn't? He was no good with conversation most of the time, but he'd thought the two of them were comfortable enough in each other to say whatever came to mind. Whatever, he'd figure it out and fix it later. Each name he gave her resulted in an arm squeeze where she held his pinned around her. Judith had earned a gasp and small squeal, and his revelation that Rick and Michonne had gotten together resulted in an "Aww… that's perfect! I can see them bein' real good for each other. And Judy finally has a mom."

Daryl wanted to interject that she'd had one in Beth from the very start, but that was something they could hash out another day. They had time, something Daryl had thought for a long while now would never be possible. He then told her about the other child who'd survived the prison falling and how he'd convinced a couple in Alexandria to adopt him.

"I know, Aaron already told me about Luke. It was hard not to tell him who I was and how I already knew Luke from when he was little, well, littler. I wasn't sure if my name would mean anything to him or not, but once he mentioned his family I knew right away I was gonna try to find a way for them to stay in touch until Negan lets him go, so…"

"Aaron's allowed to talk to his family? And you can get close to him?"

"He can write to them," Beth clarified. "And Negan gets to read the letters ahead of time if he wants. And yes, Aaron's working in the hospital wing with me. I'm a doctor here, one of 'em anyways. Aaron's alright. He ain't bein' kept in a cell like this. Got regular clothes and food and his own space. And I'm keepin' a pretty close eye on him, got a couple of friends helpin' when I can't be around."

It was a bit of a reassurance. When Negan had revealed that Aaron was a fellow prisoner, Daryl hadn't trusted his word that Aaron was being treated better than himself. But Beth wouldn't lie, not to him anyway. And her as a doctor made perfect sense to him. She'd taken to assisting Hershel in their time at the prison, not only patching up scrapes but also learning about herbal remedies he knew. Plus, helping people came so naturally to her that, even if the world hadn't turned on itself, he could hardly imagine her doing anything else with her life.

He saved Glenn and Maggie for last, knowing he was also bringing with it a question that had been bothering him for hours. "Negan said he told you already about her."

"He did." She hedged. It wasn't the first time tonight he'd felt her muscles ripple in discomfort, emotional rather than physical. Like she was holding something back from him, maybe from herself as well.

"Beth, I don't know how much real freedom you got here, but if you can get to her… that night, he said he was sending her to someplace called Towers. She didn't look good, Beth, we wouldn't have had her out there if it weren't important. Ain't tryin' to scare you, but I ain't gonna sit here and act like she don't need help, either."

"I know, Daryl. I know where she is and I know what's wrong with her, and I didn't have to go through Negan to get it. Towers isn't a place, it's a person. Connie Towers, she's an OB/GYN in another community. It's a doctor for women – "

"Just 'cause I ain't never gonna need one for myself doesn't mean I don't know what a gynecologist is."

"Oh," she chuckled softly. "Shouldn't assume, I guess. You don't know how many times I've had to explain stuff to the men here."

He gave her another gentle squeeze, communicating without words that he didn't mind, they were good.

"Connie's really good, the best there is when it comes to mamas and babies. She's delivered more than a hundred since the turn, mine included. Maggie's in the best place she could be. And Connie did a relay chat with me the day after y'all got taken to tell me about Maggie herself. She's been teachin' me, you see. I knew all the things Daddy had taught me, enough that no one had anything to say when I volunteered to work in the hospital wing. But I knew I had a long ways to go. And Dr. Carson is very good, Emmett knows his stuff and all. Had a good practice before from what I understand. Just, when it comes to pregnancy and babies, well, Connie's the best. Between visits and books and radio calls, she's been givin' me a crash course in medical school. And we've gotten real close, so when they brought Maggie to her, she recognized her name. Maggie's fine. Well, she's gonna be fine. But she can't travel and she can't have any extra stress. And she's gotta be on a special diet. She's a lot further along than she thought, comin' into her fifth month, and she ain't showin' at all 'cause she's malnourished, and it's affectin' the baby's growth. So Dr. Towers talked to King Ezekiel – that's the leader of her community – and got him to say that Maggie has to stay put until the baby's born and they're sure Maggie'll be able to nurse enough to keep him or her healthy and growin' right. Maggie's safe. Negan can't touch her. And wouldn't even if he could. We're friends."

Daryl didn't have anything to say to that, but it was as if Beth could feel the derision and skepticism coming off him in waves, "Well, kinda. It's weird. _He's_ weird. But I know how to handle him. And at any rate, he hates women bein' hurt. Whatever else he is, Negan loves women. Goes out of his way to protect them. And kids. Any time I think about things I don't like about this place, punishments for rule-breakin, or any of it, and I think maybe I should take my kids and move on, find somewhere else… I see him with his kids and, whatever else he is or what he's done, that's real. Negan loves the women he marries and he loves his children. And so I tell myself that, really, it's not so different from Rick, that first winter, or when we took the prison and Lori… how lost he was and the choices he made for all of us back then. What he would have been like if you and Daddy and all the rest hadn't been there to pull him back from all that. That's what Negan is, a good man who lost as much as anyone and kept goin' as best he could. Just that no one's been there to pull him back. And maybe me stayin', bein' his friend, is the thing that keeps him from completely fallin'. Silly thing, really. The fairy stories we tell so we sleep at night."

"If you're such good friends and you know how to handle him so well, why did he say you wouldn't go to visit her? That you didn't feel like you could," Daryl couldn't help himself, even as his conscience (if the damned thing existed) was telling him to reign it in, that Beth was fidgety enough already.

"Negan's not happy if he isn't pushin' someone's buttons. Whatever he said, he was tryin' to get under your skin. He's good at that, doesn't tell lies, just chooses _how_ he tells the truth. I can go see Maggie any time I want; I don't need his permission. Everybody gets three half-day shifts off each week. As long as I'm not skippin' out on work and I've made sure my children are looked after, I can go. And bein' a doctor means I've got an even easier time gettin' out past the fences than most. And if I thought I was bein' held back – which I'm not – all I have to do is radio-call Dr. Towers and have her say she needs me there. Part of our trade agreement with her community is that we help each other with medical emergencies. It's why Negan knew he could send Maggie there in the first place."

"So you can see her, but you won't see her?"

"I told ya, Maggie can't be havin' any kind of stress more than she already does. She thinks I'm dead. What do you think seein' me walk through the door would do? Even good news can be bad if it's too much of a shock."

The words made sense enough. Except her body language was all wrong. "You ain't never lied to me before." There, he'd called her out.

"I didn't lie. And I ain't never gonna lie to you. Just didn't tell you everythin'."

"Why?"

"'cause I'm a terrible person."

"Bullshit," Daryl scoffed.

"You wanna know why I came North?" Beth's voice was nearly inaudible. "I tracked you to Terminus. Well, not you. Maggie."

Daryl was often speechless these days, but that was by choice. How in the hell, when he had been completely unable to pick up her trail, had she been able to find theirs? He knew he'd taught her the basics, but…

"It's not as miraculous as it sounds. After… after I got away, I got my hands on a map and found my way back to the prison. I figured, if we were all lookin' for each other, maybe some had gone back to what we knew, kinda like Sophia's car after we lost the farm."

It wasn't a bad idea. There would have been too many walkers at first, but after a couple of months with nothing for them to feed on, they would have migrated. He should have thought of it himself. Another regret.

"No one was there, but someone had been. I found Daddy where the Governor had… someone took the time to make sure he was at peace. And there weren't so many walkers that we couldn't get through. Most of our stuff was still in pretty good shape. Got cleaned up, patched up. Ate some good meals and rested for a few days to get our strength. Left a note in case anyone else came back and followed the train tracks that we'd started down before. I thought, if anyone had gotten away from what we found, maybe they kept going down the path. And that's when I started seein' the signs. _Glenn, go to Terminus. Maggie._ Always the same, over and over. Couldn't go more than a couple of miles without seeing the big bold letters in walker blood. Glenn. Go to Terminus. Maggie."

It wasn't the first time Daryl had heard about the signs Maggie had made in her search for family, but it was the first he'd heard the actual words she used. Or rather, the one word, the one _name_, she didn't. No room for Beth, it seemed, on Maggie's signs. He'd always taken issue with how eager she'd been to go to DC, how she'd not once protested, or even suggested a token day's search for her baby sister. And now this. Daryl's blood was already simmering, and Beth's next words didn't help.

"Then it did change: Glenn, go to Terminus. Maggie, Sasha, Bob. Had to leave the path after that one. Couldn't take it. It's one thing to think you don't have much of a place, don't fit in, don't really matter. It's a whole somethin' else to see it up on a wall. To see that my sister had room for everyone else, just no room for me. To her, I really was just another dead girl."

All he could do was hold her more tightly. He knew Beth was crying. And the bitterness in her voice was foreign, alien coming from her lilting country drawl. Didn't belong there at all. _Wouldn't be there if Maggie had gotten her fucking priorities straight._ Beth had driven him half-crazy tearing up and down the back woods of Georgia looking for their family, looking for her sister. Maggie, it seemed, couldn't be bothered to look beyond her own selfish needs.

"I know it's stupid. If she hadn't made those signs, I would never have gone to Terminus. It was burnt through when I got there, all deserted, but one of the buildings the fire didn't touch had so many weapons, warm clothes, camping gear, even these uppity high-tech waterproof nylon hammocks. Life-savers, the lot of it. We wouldn't have made it half so far if it weren't for that stash. And then there were marks on the trees in the woods next to the train yard. Don't know who made them – didn't seem like a thing you'd do, or at least, if you had, you would've done it different, made the marks something I'd know was you for sure. But they led to a church and in the church was a map with Rick's name written in a message on it. Didn't know how long ago y'all had been there, but I knew headin' up to DC was my best chance. And next to the church steps were a couple of cigarette butts. So I thought, maybe, just maybe… So I should just forgive her. Just go and hug her and cry and never tell her any of it. Daddy would rest easier, he never liked it when we weren't getting along. Thought I had gotten past it, right up until I knew where she was. And then all I could think was _Glenn. Go to Terminus. Maggie._ And I can't let it go. Not this time. Not this much hurt. I can't promise that if I walked in her room looked her in the face that I wouldn't let it all come flyin' out. But I at least got enough good sense in me to know that my silly little hurt feelin's ain't worth risking my niece or nephew's life if the stress were too much for Maggie to handle. So I'm stayin' away until the baby's born. And I made Negan promise not to tell anyone in Alexandria that I'm alive, either. Just in case he gets it in his head to let Glenn visit Maggie. Heaven knows he's never been able to keep a secret." She tried to laugh, to ease the tension.

Daryl didn't know what he could say that wouldn't come out all wrong. His emotions were all over the place after the day's events, and how here she was first defending Negan of all people, then holding herself back from her own family, but also being so sad to do it, so hurt by her sister's self-centered behavior… He didn't filter well on the best of days and anything that came out of his mouth right now would likely be yet another regret to add to his ever-growing list.

But now she was restless and shuffling in the silence as if she were about to pull away from him, to leave. Silence was apparently the wrong thing to say, too.

"I took a deal," he blurted. Anything just to keep her here a while longer. And it worked, she settled against his side once more. "He offered for me to join him, be one of them, and I couldn't… I should've just – maybe could've come live with you, help you with your kids with those point things or whatever, but I – "

"You made the right choice, Daryl. Negan wouldn't've trusted it, and anyway, it wouldn't have been right. It wouldn't have been _you_."

He breathed deeply, feeling better for her understanding of where he'd been coming from when he'd refused Negan's first offer. "Besides," she added, and he could hear the smile in her voice, "I think I've done alright for myself. Not just another dead girl, ya know." She gave him a gentle elbow in the ribs and he squeezed her around the middle tightly in return.

"Don't you be worryin' about me, Daryl. I like that I've got a job where I get to help people, and I'm good at it. I can say that at least. Other people do. Seem to like comin' to me for help and advice and what-not. I feel like I matter here, like I'm needed. And I've made some real good friends. I'm doin' okay with my strange little life. It might not be perfect, but I'm holdin' my own. Ain't the kind of girl who's got to have a man in her life to take care of her," she sassed.

"No, you ain't," he returned, choosing, for now at least, to let her comments about mattering and being needed to slide. "Beth Greene, takin' the world by storm."

And there it was again. That little ripple of muscle under his hand, like her stomach was clenching in knots she couldn't control. Something she wasn't saying, was afraid to tell him. And another thought was tickling at the edges of his brain. How she'd said earlier that Negan had only stopped asking her to marry him because of someone else, but here she was talking about going it alone. The pieces weren't fitting together right in his mind. What was he missing?

"Daryl?" it sounded like she was repeating herself. "What kind of deal did you agree to, if not joining Negan?"

He brought his thoughts back to the present. "Working. Still be a prisoner or hostage, whatever he wants to call it. But gettin' out and doin' whatever needs doin'. Not bein' in here all damn day."

"Good," Beth's head nodded firmly, shifting the filthy sweatshirt he was forced to wear. "Did Negan say what all you'd be doin'? Of if anyone was gonna be keepin' an eye on you?"

"Just that it was the shit no one else would choose to do if they could have a say. Probably Dwight keepin' watch. He's the one who's been around the most. Seems to enjoy it."

"Bitter jerk," she grumbled.

"Not a fan, I take it?"

"Supposed to respect everybody. It's a rule around here. Don't have to like 'em, just gotta be civil. And with most people, I ain't got a problem bein' friendly. But with Dwight…"

"I met him, before," Daryl revealed. "Was out on a run last summer, and I met him and his wife and her sister."

"That must have been right before Tina died," she whispered.

"Helped put her down after she got bit."

"She was really sweet. She came in to the infirmary a lot."

"Diabetes, I know."

"Yeah. I can do a lot with plants to make medicines, herbal teas, but insulin just isn't somethin' I can replace with anythin' growing in my greenhouse. We've got a trade with one community that makes it from cows and pigs like they used to a long time ago, but Tina had a bad reaction to it. She needed the synthetic kind, or the real thing from people. And there's just no more of it being made any more. Only one place we know of that still has it, same group that makes the animal kind, but they're so far away and with what they charge in exchange… Dr. Carson and I both tried to help manage Tina's illness best we could. But she had trouble workin' full days and was getting' behind on points. Negan offered to marry her and take care of her – his wives only work for points if they want extra things. Sherry got it in her head that Negan was blackmailin' her sister, but I meant what I said about him earlier. I'm close with some of his wives and, without sayin' things they've told me in secret, a lot of what braggin' and hintin' at, you know, _that_ kind of stuff, is just talk. Negan really does love women. And loves takin' care of people. Feeds his ego. Got a real hero complex that one, likes it when people need him. But makin' a woman do somethin' she doesn't want doesn't do anything for him, doesn't satisfy his own idea of himself as the ultimate Savior. But no one was gonna stop 'em from leavin' if that's what they wanted. Except Dwight stole the insulin. Not just the kind Tina actually needed. He stole all of it. I got other patients who need it or they'll die. So Negan sent people to track them down."

"Ran into them, too."

"They never mentioned you when they came back. Wish they had. Who knows what might've happened? Anyway, Dwight and Sherry came back. But Tina was gone, Cam lost his arm, and three people went into comas waitin' on insulin – one never woke up. Punishment for stealing's bad enough. Doin' somethin' that costs somone's life? Sherry didn't know he'd taken it all, was just focused on Tina. And then, when they were questioning Dwight, he let slip that the real reason he'd done it all was because he thought Negan was using Tina to get to Sherry. Said some other things, too. Things that made Sherry, and a few others, but mainly Sherry, think that maybe, Dwight knew the other insulin wouldn't be good for Tina, that maybe he was tired of sharing his points to help with her medicine and was lookin' to take matters into his own hands… He denied it and no one can prove one way or another. Didn't matter to Sherry. She was done. Committee hadn't even finished interviewin' them to make any kind of judgement and Sherry up and leaves Dwight right there in the middle of it. Goes to Negan and says she wants to marry him. Some folks say she did it so Negan wouldn't kill Dwight. Others say it was just to spite Dwight for bein' jealous and not trustin' her and for maybe tryin' to get rid of Tina. She's never said one way or the other to me or anyone else that I know of. But you've seen Dwight's face, so you know how that went. And he's been rotten and hateful ever since. 'specially to me and Dr. Carson and anyone else workin' in the hospital wing. Like we're somehow to blame for him stealin' the medicine. All we did was report the insulin bein' gone. Answer the committee's questions about the patients who needed it and how it hurt them not to have it. How did we even get… oh, yeah, so, Dwight guardin' you. He's probably gonna keep on being a jerk to you 'cause of me, and I'm sorry about that. Just try to keep your head down. I'll see what I can do on my end."

"Don't be goin' to any kind of trouble. He ain't got nothin' I can't deal with. And you got those little ones to be thinkin' about."

Beth sighed, "I should be gettin' back to them. Neighbors have been watchin' 'em while I'm down here and I know they said I should take as long as I like, but I can't be takin' advantage. The twins can be holy terrors when they get wound up."

"You ain't told me about them, your kids." Daryl knew it wasn't fair; he couldn't be demanding more of her than she had to give, but he wasn't ready to let go just yet. Wasn't ready to face being locked in this cell with nothing but his thoughts for even the few hours left before a guard came to drag him out for his first official day as Negan's obedient work-horse.

"They're amazin'," she returned easily. And then she was less easy, the wrong kind of still. Not relaxed, but on edge. "And you've got to know," she whispered more to herself than to him. God damned stomach muscles clenching up again under Daryl's touch.

"Beth – " he began.

But she was plowing ahead, and only the fact that he could feel her easing more comfortably back against him as she talked about each child held him from interrupting to ask what in the hell had her so spooked.

"Tim's my oldest, just turned ten at the start of the year. Which, of course, makes me crazy, because turning ten is when the kids switch from primary school to the upper levels. They're not in classes by age anymore, they're all on teams, as they call it. Half the day is spent in regular school, but the other half is learnin' to fight, defend themselves. Goin' outside the fences. And they can start workin' towards earnin' an apprenticeship. And Tim's tryin' to grow up so fast. He wants to help, always has. Real protective of his sisters and brother, and of me. He reminds me a lot of you like that, always lookin' out for others first. And then there's Sunni, she's seven. She's… quiet. Too quiet. She's never spoken a word to me or anyone else. When we got here and I got into medical, I tried to find what was wrong, see if there was somethin' we could do. She hears just fine. Just doesn't speak. But she's sharp, she's always watchin', always figurin' things out. And she and Tim had a kind of signing they did before I came along, and we've been learning American Sign Language as a family. Her teachers have been real good about doing that with her class, too, so she can make friends more easily. And the twins, comin' up on 19 months, growin' so fast. Just 'cause they're twins don't mean they're the same. Different as can be, those two."

She took a breath, a little shaky at the memories, "When they were born, I was feelin' real alone. Scared. Didn't know if I'd ever find any of y'all again. But those two in my arms the first time, I just knew we were gonna be okay. It felt like Mama and Daddy were standin' right there with me. The worry came back quick enough, but I wanted to have that peace, that family feelin' in their names. So Lillian, after my Mama's middle name, and Margaret for Maggie. And William for Shawn's middle name, and Hershel for Daddy. Lily and Liam. And Liam's every bit as peaceful and calm as you'd ever want a baby to be. But Lily… that girl, I love her, I'd bleed for her in a heartbeat. But Lordy does she try my patience in every way possible. She is SO stubborn. Everything has to be her way, has to be right now. Her favorite thing to say is 'No, Mama, I do it'."

Beth laughed, and Daryl with her, picturing a stubborn little blonde giving _his_ stubborn little blonde all kinds of cute toddler-like hell. "Best way I can put it is thinkin' about them learnin' to walk. Lily wanted to run the second she figured out how to get on her feet. Face-planted so many times I honestly worried she was gonna give herself a concussion. Bloodied her nose more than once. Would be cryin' from hurtin' and still be tryin' to pull out of my arms so she could do it again. And the whole time, Liam would be sitting just as calm as you please on his blanket, watchin' Lily tangle herself on her own two feet and tumblin' down again and again. Then, one day, he just grabs for the chair and pulls himself up. Wobbles a bit, gets steady, and takes a determined little step at a time until he gets to where he can't hold on to anything, and just keeps goin'. Made it almost halfway across the room before sitting back down on his rear-end. It's like that for everything new - he just needs to watch her work out all the kinks and then he can do it for himself with one or two tries."

Daryl laughed outright, "You can't be all that surprised. You Greene's are as strong-willed as they come."

"Not Greene."

"Huh?"

"Not Greene," she repeated, and every muscle Daryl could feel in her was stiff with nerves. "That's what I… it's what I gotta tell ya. 'Cause you've got to know. And I'm so sorry, Daryl. I had no idea it would be like this… it's not what I meant at all…"

She was breathing so hard and heavy he feared she'd start to hyperventilate. "Girl, whatever it is, just tell me. Ya ain't got nothin' to be sorry for."

"Yeah, I do."

"No," Daryl was adamant. "If I ain't got nothin' to be sorry for, then neither do you." He called back her earlier absolution. He wished she weren't facing away from him so he could stare her down until she realized he was the one in the right.

"This ain't the same, Daryl, not even close."

"You gonna have to explain it to me, then, 'cause I ain't seein' it."

"When I came here… no…" She took a breath and tried again, "Beth Greene was everything you said she was. Silly little girl singin' songs around the campfire, cuttin' her wrist lookin' for attention – "

"Don't. I didn't mean that shit and you know it. I was pissed and hurtin' and drunk."

"Don't mean it wasn't true."

"Dammit, Beth, you ain't none of that."

"I am. I'm a lot more than that. But it's in there, too, a part of me. But after everything… I couldn't let that part out, couldn't let it be part of who I was anymore. I had to put it away, that innocent little girl who thought her Daddy would grow old with grandkids on his knees, had to put her away so I could get through. So I could be strong enough to make it and keep makin' it for Sunni, and Tim, for the babies I didn't even know I had inside me. And for me."

"And we did it. We made it. All the way here. Didn't come in right away. We watched from the trees for more than a week. I knew by then I was expectin' and I knew we needed to find a place. Winter was settin' in hard, and I couldn't be sure I could keep all of us fed on our own and out in the open. But it had to be a good place. After what we'd come from, no way I was puttin' us through anythin' like that again. But I liked what I saw. The walker fence was a little much, but all in all… I thought, this can be good. It'll be a fresh start. I'll have the baby here and then, if it's not workin', we'll move on. Got the upper hand right from the start. Scared the mess out of 'em. First light creepin' across the yard and we're _inside_ the fence without anyone seein' us. To this day, Negan still doesn't know how we did it. It impressed him, all of them. And it let 'em know, I wasn't someone they wanted to mess with. I wasn't the kind of girl who needed savin'."

She whispered now, "And it just slipped out. I didn't plan it. Almost took it back right then, but I thought, why? What harm could it do? It didn't mean anything to them, but it meant the world to me. Wouldn't have lasted not one single day without…"

"Beth, what are you – "

"Dixon. My name, the name I gave them when I first got here, is Beth Dixon. That's why Negan picked you, singled you out. Why he's so focused on you. He thinks we're married."

* * *

**All reviews are greatly appreciated! **


	8. Chapter 8

**SO grateful for the feedback, especially for the last chapter! I love being able to chat with you all about what you like, don't like, or have questions about, so please keep those reviews coming! And yes, for those who care about such things, the medical stuff coming up in this chapter is real and credibly researched, just like all the info in earlier chapters on why Alexandria's crops failed. Because if we're going to do fanfiction, we're going to do it right! And here we go...**

* * *

Chapter 8: Tightrope, Part I

Aaron really needed to get his head on straight. He felt like he'd spent half the night just trying to wrap his head around everything that Negan had said to him and the other half trying to figure out what to do about it.

On one hand, his family was the most important thing in the world to him. Being able to write home and knowing they would be writing back was his only lifeline in this place. And Negan had been very clear, anything in the journals that he felt didn't belong and that lifeline would be cut. And Aaron couldn't tell if his warning was a preemptive strike – meaning that either Negan hadn't read his first letter or hadn't understood the coded messages Aaron had left for his family. The fact that Negan had asked whether or not Aaron had included anything about the Doc seemed to support this theory.

But Aaron was enough of a wordsmith to recognize the same gift of gab in his enemy. Negan's ability to weave creative conversation went beyond dangerously playful inflection or adolescent puns. The man knew how to use words, how to choose them carefully and speak in layers that kept others off-balance. Asking about the Doc could have been a ploy, and Negan's warning may have been more of an acknowledgement that he already knew what Aaron had done the first time around, making any future letters all the riskier for the increased scrutiny.

And then there was the Doc herself and the revelation that came with; that blow had completely blindsided Aaron. He could only imagine what it had done to Daryl, but at least he now understood exactly what had motivated his friend's surrender on the road.

Beth Greene wasn't a name heard in Alexandria. If Aaron hadn't gone out of his way to befriend Daryl, he doubted that Negan's caveat of not mentioning her in his letters would have carried any significance to him.

Daryl had definitely stood out from the rest of the group of stragglers, even from their first encounter. Aaron had instantly felt an empathy with the loner who seemed to be in his own state of self-imposed exile. What had started out as offers for dinners to avoid the larger community gatherings eventually resulted in an invitation to move in, although Aaron wasn't sure he could call what Daryl had done 'moving in', exactly. Daryl kept his few belongings in their home's third bedroom but only slept indoors on rare occasions when the weather was bad enough to warrant it. To Aaron (and any reasonably sane person), rain or freezing temperatures ought to be enough to bring a man indoors for the night. For Daryl, anything less than a category 2 hurricane or golf-ball-sized hail wasn't grounds for him leaving his preferred spot under the oak tree in their back yard. Assuming he slept at all; there were many nights where Aaron would wake up for a bathroom break or drink of water and find Daryl tinkering in the garage or see the dim light of a lit cigarette glowing from under the oak branches, Daryl's face closed off and eyes distant.

The first and only time Aaron had heard the name Beth Greene was from Daryl, a little less than a year after the group had settled in Alexandria. Aaron had been on his way back from checking on Luke in the night when he heard something he couldn't identify coming from the back yard. Afraid that the dead had somehow found a way into the safe zone, Aaron had nearly tripped himself rushing downstairs to warn his friend. But the sounds he'd heard were Daryl's harsh, broken sobs from where he lay curled in on himself on their side porch, and empty glass bottle of liquor on its side next to him. Aaron had never seen him show much emotion at all, but it seemed that everything Daryl had ever bottled up was now spilling out in droves. Aaron had sat on the porch next to him, careful not to touch the hunter (Eric, who was a big hugger, had made that mistake early on in their friendship). He wasn't sure how long he waited with his legs outstretched on the wood planks of the attached porch in silent support before Daryl finally acknowledged his presence with a quiet, "Ya ain't gotta stay."

"I don't mind," had been his honest reply.

"'s my fault. I lost her. Year ago t'night."

"Tell me."

And he had. Aaron wasn't sure which of them was more surprised as Daryl opened up about the blonde-haired girl with big blue eyes and an even bigger smile for everyone she met who sang everything from Christian music she'd grown up with in the church choir to Tom Waits' experimental jazz. The eternal optimist who accepted Daryl with all his emotional baggage and refused to let him give in to his past or his grief, who left thank-you notes to strangers and could find beauty in the ugliest places. How Daryl's one thoughtless mistake had cost him his best friend and her, in all likelihood, her life. How he'd tried to do what she said, to put the painful things away, but he couldn't stop keeping count of each night that she wasn't where he could keep her safe.

He'd wanted to say something that would help Daryl feel better, find some peace. But he'd known that Daryl was in no place to hear it, that if he had opened his mouth, whatever words came out would only end up being a barrier to their friendship. So Aaron had sat there in silence, letting Daryl share what he chose and keep the rest to himself. The next day, Daryl went about his business as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred the night before. And Beth's name never came up again. But Aaron had kept a mental note of the date, and, when the second anniversary of her disappearance had rolled around, he'd offered a full bottle of whiskey and his silent support for that night's watch.

Aaron hadn't judged. It was probably the main reason Daryl had been willing to build a close relationship with him. Daryl judged himself enough for the both of them and, from what little Aaron had gleaned about this woman he'd never met, Aaron was probably the closest Daryl could find in at least that character trait to the friend he'd lost along the way.

Not judging was Aaron's preferred modus operandi. He'd been judged enough in his own life and very little good had ever come of it. But now he had to judge, had to weigh out his options and choose a path and there would likely be few, if any, opportunities to turn back once he made up his mind. And it all came down to the words he scrawled on the pages of his journal each night. The coded messages in his first missive were harmless enough even if Negan did figure them out. But basics like that weren't going to help Alexandria come to the rescue (if it were even possible), much less win an all-out war against the Saviors. But getting caught might cost Aaron access to his family, possibly for the rest of his or their lives. Better to play it safe, maybe, with the letters home, to keep playing the part of the model prisoner and earn his ticket home, where he'd be able to share everything he observed openly and help them win. Unless Negan never sent him home. In which case these letters were all he had, and that made them all the more priceless. Aaron knew if he didn't have his family, he'd be hard-pressed to find a reason to keep fighting.

If he played along and did everything he could to keep his connection to his family alive and safe, then Negan won. He'd said as much last night; Aaron was already doing exactly what Negan had predicted he'd do, what he wanted him to do. And was Negan winning the worst thing in the world? If Aaron convinced everyone in the Sanctuary that Alexandria wasn't the enemy, Negan had promised that no one else would have to die. If he passed information to Rick and the others, more casualties were an almost certainty. And who's to say that they'd win in the end? Negan definitely had the numbers and, according to him, had already done enough reconnaissance on the safe zone to learn all its vulnerabilities. Aaron's good intentions by sending inside information could end up leading to Alexandria's destruction. But if the rest of their lives were going to be nothing but a slow starvation as they scrounged up enough goods to satisfy Negan's demands, then what was the point?

Aaron felt like he was balancing on the edge of giant blade, and no matter which way he fell, he was going to get cut. His only hope was to not make too many others bleed with him.

* * *

"You might have warned us," Rick didn't bother with small talk as he and several others from Alexandria strode into Gregory's office. Jesus slipped in quietly behind the group and stood off to the side.

"I did warn you." Gregory stayed in the cushioned leather chair behind his oversized desk, his preferred position of power. "Do you think we willingly give up half our harvest? That we're thrilled to open our gates and let the Saviors sift through our things each week?"

"You said that Negan would be at that outpost, that taking him out was the key to bringing down the Saviors. He had nearly double the number of soldiers with him on the road than had been at the satellite relay." Rick wasn't budging. Behind him, Michonne and Rosita bore matching scowls. Sasha and Glenn had traveled with them as well, with Rick appointing Abraham and Tyrese to stay behind and supervise the beginnings of the necessary inventory overhaul, but Rick had told Glenn to seek out the Hilltop's doctor as soon as they arrived, both in case the conversation with Gregory devolved and because the worried man had waited about as long as he could stand it to learn more about his wife's possible condition. And as Glenn hadn't been there when Maggie first collapsed, Sasha was needed to help explain her symptoms and perhaps get a better idea of what Maggie, and they all, were dealing with.

"You're not going to put this on me, _Richard_," Gregory let a bit of sarcasm slip briefly before pulling his tone of voice back closer to a sense of calm. "When you came to me begging for help, I told you what we were up against. I warned you then that I didn't think Negan could be beaten. But you were so cock-sure, so determined and I thought, hey, why not take a chance? I told you he _might_ be at that outpost, told you what kind of numbers had showed up here. I gave you every bit of information that I was certain of. And even when you didn't deliver on your end, I gave you, from our own meager stores, enough food to get you through the winter."

"We all thought Negan was dead, that we'd gotten him at the satellite outpost," Rosita pointed out.

"Yes, we all thought Negan was dead, but that didn't stop Simon from coming each week for his tribute! And where were you? Hiding behind your walls for weeks while we kept having to shell out." Gregory stood and moved around his desk to confront the group. "Is that the kind of people I'm dealing with? You say you're going to help us but what you really mean is you're going to help yourselves. A token show of force and then you back off – you were supposed to finish off the Saviors, _all_ of the Saviors, not poke the hornet's nest and then run away like a scared little girl! What do you think happened after he corralled your group? I've been dealing with the fall-out of your failure ever since. You come here acting like I'm the bad guy, like I'm the source of all your troubles. Do you have any idea what I've had to do to keep him pacified so I can protect my people?"

Jesus clarified from his spot on the sidelines as he leaned semi-casually against the bookshelf, "Yesterday afternoon, a convoy of Saviors came in unexpectedly. They put everyone on lockdown in their homes while Simon had a private conversation with Gregory."

"Was anyone hurt?" Concern shone through Rick's eyes.

"No, but we're under new restrictions and the amount of produce we're expected to turn over from each crop has increased," Jesus ruefully supplied. "Gregory shared the news with us just this morning."

"And it didn't come from Simon," Gregory interjected. "He was just the messenger. Negan had him bring over a radio so he could deliver the new rules to me personally without having to do it in person. Cute little power play," he grumbled. "I'm not sure what you're expecting from me, here, Rick, but Hilltop has gone above and beyond. You said you could take care of the Saviors and we took you at your word, sharing our limited reserves to get you and your people not starve to death even when you hadn't delivered. Now here you are again, little orphan Oliver with your empty bowl, '_Please, sir, I'd like some more'_. What more do you honestly think you deserve?"

"This isn't about deserving, this is about all of us working together to beat these guys!" Rosita was passionate, "It's about not sitting back and just letting him win!"

"Sitting back? Is that what you think I do?" Gregory rounded on the angry woman. "Listen up, Rosie, I have been dealing with Negan for a lot longer than you. And up until now, I've done pretty well. For more than three years now, he's been coming at us. For more than three years now he's been trying to break our backs with his demands. And for more than three years now, I've been keeping my people safe. I kept Hilltop going. And I didn't do it with violence. Negotiation. Diplomacy. Building a relationship. And we were in a good place. Negan hasn't shown up here himself in so long most people don't even remember what he looks like. Even the team Simon brought for his weekly runs was getting smaller, just a skeleton crew. Trust, you see? A give and take. We were even starting to build ourselves a decent food storage, because even though I was having us expand our crops, Negan's idea of 'half' never got bigger. Until now. Until I opened up our home to you people. Now, I've got full convoys of armed men harassing my people, scaring the daylights out of them. Paul here can't leave the community unless he checks in with me, tells me exactly where he's going. And if they show up while he's out on one of his little adventures and they don't find him exactly where he said he'd be, I have to pick which person they're going to kill because he – " Gregory pointed at Jesus, "gets a little antsy behind the walls here!"

Rick put up his hands in a pacifying gesture, "No one here is questioning your leadership. When Jesus first told me about this place, he said that he couldn't see anyone else doing what you did with Hilltop. I believed him then and I believe him still."

Gregory settled down at Rick's praise and leaned back against the edge of his desk. "Well, I appreciate that. But you didn't come here just to pat me on the back. What do you want?"

Michonne stepped up, "Negan took three of our people hostage. You've had to deal with him for a while now; do you have any idea where he might hold people prisoner?"

Gregory shook his head, "He's never taken prisoners from us, not really. Little day trips to do manual labor at other outposts, but nothing long-term. Just the one person he killed to send a message at the start. I'm sorry for your people, I really am. But I can't help you."

"We also need some food, and seeds for some of the early spring crops. We saved the seeds from what you gave us last year, but most of those can't be planted for a few months for a decent yield," Rick requested.

"Seriously, Rick? After I just finished telling you that Negan's going to be taking even more from us?"

Jesus spoke quietly, "Surely we can spare-"

"Fine. We'll get you some seeds for cabbage, broccoli, onion. We might have a few potatoes you can work with. But this can't go on forever. I have to look out for all of my people first," Gregory reasoned. "Bottom line, my people didn't put me in charge so I could risk their lives for no good reason. So we're going to comply. I suggest you do the same."

* * *

Sasha and Glenn approached the space that Harlan Carson had set up as the Hilltop's medical center and knocked on the open door. "Anybody home?" Sasha called out.

"Hey, come in," Carson emerged from the supply closet. "I was just taking stock of what we've got. Saviors were here yesterday afternoon rifling through, made a bit of a mess of things. What can I do for you?"

Sasha closed the door as Dr. Carson pulled a cluster of chairs together. "What do you know about ovarian cysts?"

"Well, they're not common but not exactly rare, either. Usually just fluid-filled sacs that form around the reproductive organs but often dissipate on their own. Have you been experiencing any cramps beyond what you normally do during your cycle? Abdominal pain or swelling?" He started working through the symptoms he could recall.

"Not for me," Sasha clarified. "Maggie, Glenn's wife."

"Negan took her," he added miserably. "She was sick, and everyone was on their way to bring her to you, and the Saviors found everyone and they took her."

Sasha quickly relayed a summary of what had happened to them on the road to the doctor.

"And when Negan came to Alexandria yesterday to start claiming his share of our stuff, he left this," Glenn passed the note Negan had written.

Harlan scanned it, concern clearly etched in the deepening frown lines, "I didn't know Maggie was pregnant. How far along is she?"

"We don't know, a couple of months?" Glenn supplied, "Denise had her take a pregnancy test and it came back positive, but then… We were planning on coming here to have you check her out, use the ultrasound, but we kept putting it off."

Harlan nodded, "I don't have a lot of the scanning gel left. Not that you can't use the machine without it, but it helps. Is she showing at all?"

"No, no baby bump, not even a little one."

"So probably three months tops, four at the absolute most. Do you know if my brother was the one to treat her?"

"Your brother?" Sasha was confused.

"Emmett and I came to Hilltop a few years ago after the place we were in got overrun. After a couple of weeks, Gregory came to us. Negan had learned that Hilltop had two doctors – he wanted one. He said we could choose, and that whoever went would be guaranteed protection, a good life, as long as he stayed and did his job. Emmett volunteered. I haven't seen or heard from him sense. I like to think he did it as a favor for me."

"You think he had some other reason?" Sasha was incredulous.

"We've never been all that close," Harlan admitted ruefully. "And while I've never seen the Saviors' compound, I imagine they must have a pretty good set-up. Some of us go into the medical profession out of a desire to help people; others don't mind helping because being a doctor came with a pretty great paycheck, at least before. Emmett was always good at the work, but he was definitely in it for the money. But that's neither here nor there…"

He got up and walked over to a bookshelf to pull an old textbook and began flipping through the pages as he spoke, "So, ovarian cysts. It's like I said earlier, they're usually a fluid-filled sac that forms, grows, and eventually stretches beyond its own means, springs a leak, and the fluid dissipates harmlessly to be absorbed back into the body. But sometimes they grow so large that they're crowding the other organs and muscles. Or there are smaller ones but they're growing in clusters, same problem. Most of the time, even women who get them regularly don't even realize it's happening unless they don't tear on their own. There can be some cramping or even more intense pain, but generally not more than what you'd associate with a more intense menstrual cycle. If they don't go away on their own, you might need surgery to remove them. But, sometimes, they burst. And that can be incredibly painful. Some have even described it as like being shot."

"That would fit with what Maggie experienced," Sasha noted. "I wasn't there exactly when it happened, but I was with her when we were trying to get her here. She said it was like someone had kicked her in the gut. But instead of the feeling fading, it just stayed with her. She got all pale and shaky and had to keep curled in on herself to try and relieve the pain. And every so often, it was like she'd gotten hit all over again."

"Anything like this ever happen before?"

"No," Glenn answered. "She's never had anything like what you described. How bad is this for the baby?"

Dr. Carson wiped his face, "It could mean nothing. The womb is designed to be the ultimate cushion. Worst case scenario is a placental abruption. Basically, the explosive power of the cyst or cysts, and it sounds like, if this is what it is, she had more than one, sends shock waves so strong they force the placenta to tear from the uterine wall. The placenta is the nutrient pack – what Maggie eats gets broken down into her bloodstream, flows into the pack, and that supplies nutrients to the baby through the umbilical cord. But if the placenta gets dislodged, even partially, then it's not receiving any nutrients from the mother. Which means there's nothing to pass from that nutrient pack to the baby. Essentially, even though the mother is eating, the baby could starve to death inside her."

"Oh my God," Sasha breathed. Glenn lost what little color remained in his face and was shaking.

"Please keep in mind that a placental abruption occurring because of a ruptured cyst is rare. And just because one occurs doesn't automatically mean she'll lose the baby. Many women have partial separation of that nutrient pack and deliver reasonably healthy babies. Without actually being able to examine her, I have no way of knowing what we're truly dealing with. I'm just spit-balling all the possibilities here. And that's assuming that this," Dr. Carson held up the note, "is accurate."

"He's right, Glenn. All it says here is that you should look into ovarian cysts, not that she actually had one. For all we know, Negan asked Harlan's brother to list all the possible things that could have been wrong with her and is giving you the run-around."

"Sasha's got a point. I'm not trying to alarm you. I do want you to be prepared and to understand that this could be serious and even life-threatening, but again, what I described is the worst case scenario. What you're describing could just as easily be a bad case of food poisoning and it's already gone away on its own."

Glenn shook his head, "Don't know if you've noticed, but we're not that lucky."

* * *

"You didn't have to carry all that," Rick said as Jesus walked with the group to their car hefting a sizeable crate of root vegetables.

"It's no trouble. I'm sorry I got you all into this mess," Jesus offered as he shifted his weight to rebalance the box while Michonne popped the trunk.

"If you hadn't come along and introduced us to this place, we would have been in a lot worse shape," she admitted.

"We wouldn't have made it through the winter without your help," Rick added. "I'm sorry we brought so much more trouble to the folks here. I'm sure everyone was pretty shaken by yesterday's visit and the new changes."

"About that," Jesus put his hand up to stop Rosita from closing the trunk and dropped his voice as low as he could, using the open trunk lid as a shield between the small group and the Hilltop's historic mansion. "Gregory did have a private meeting behind closed doors just like he said. But his office is next to the library, which is where I happened to be when the Saviors showed up. Old buildings have thicker walls, but Negan has a way of making himself heard, even over the radio."

Glenn and Sasha had walked over to join the group and closed in around Jesus. "What did you hear?" Sasha whispered.

"It's more what I didn't hear. As in, I didn't hear anything about us having to increase our weekly contributions. And I didn't hear anything about me or anyone else having to report our comings and goings, either."

"Maybe you missed it somehow. Like you said, thick walls," Glenn offered.

Jesus shook his head, "Heard the whole thing, start to finish. And there's more." But instead of continuing, he closed the trunk with a definitive pat and brought his voice back to its usual volume. "I hate that we can't do more right now, but I hope your planting goes well. I'd like to think we can still help each other out."

Rick nodded and reached out for a firm and friendly handshake, "Don't be a stranger."

Jesus smiled, "Wouldn't dream of it. I imagine, with all the changes, I'll need to go on even more runs than before. I'm sure we'll meet up from time to time."

"That's right, you know this area more than most," Glenn pointed out, "Does 'Towers' mean anything to you? Some place you might have found before coming here, maybe? Or heard the Saviors mention?"

There was a tight clenching in Jesus' jaw and something in his eyes, but all he said was, "I'm not sure how much help I can be, but I promise I'm going to do everything I can."

The group said their goodbyes and waited until the car was well outside Hilltop's gates before Rosita commented, "Well, that was cryptic."

"Why would Gregory lie? Not just to us, but his own people? And something so specific… He can't possibly sustain it. If Negan's not demanding more food from Hilltop's crops, it's not going to take very long for the people living there to realize it," Michonne reasoned. "It doesn't make any sense. What's he going to do with the extra food they're producing?"

"And why keep tabs on Jesus if he's not being forced to? Gregory doesn't strike me as the type to want to take on more work than he has to," Rosita griped.

"I think Jesus knows more about Towers than he felt like he could safely talk about in front of the others at Hilltop," Glenn added.

"Something's definitely fishy," Rick agreed. "Hopefully Jesus can shed some light the next time he's able to come to Alexandria. I, for one, am very interested to hear what Negan really had to say."

* * *

Maggie's window faced the back wall of the community, overlooking a few small raised bed gardens and an open street area where the community's children often practiced archery. And while she was feeling decidedly better than she had the night she'd been brought here, the doctor had cautioned her from moving around too much. So Maggie found herself staring out the open window more often than not.

Which is why she didn't notice Negan's quiet entrance until he was already halfway across the room and calling out to her, "Hello, Mrs. Rhee. I must say, you're looking a hell of a lot better than the last time I saw you."

She whipped around suddenly, her hand on her belly as she did so. "What do you want?" she snarled.

"What? No hello? Nice to see you again? How 'bout a 'thanks for not killing the love of my life'?"

"Where am I? What is this place? What did you do to my family?"

Negan smiled, "That's a lot of fucking questions. Have a seat, Ms. Maggie. You and I need to have a little chat. And your family is exactly what I want us to talk about."

* * *

**More Daryl and Beth next time, people. Until then, please feel free to comment, complain, or otherwise review!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Sorry it's been so long, everyone! Game of Thrones got the best of me :) (and, you know, paying bills and other silly things like that - who has time for a job when there's fanfiction waiting to be written?)**

* * *

Chapter 9: Tightrope, Part II

"I'm not telling you anything about my family," Maggie snarled. "So if that's all you came for, you can just get the hell out now."

"Wow," Negan grinned in response to her ire, which only seemed to rankle Maggie's nerves further. "I'll admit, that is not the response I was looking for. Especially after everyone else – well, most everyone – has been bending over fucking backwards with politeness in hopes of buttering me up enough to get you back home. How disappointed are they going to be, going to all that fucking trouble and here you are not even willing to play ball."

She had nothing to say to that, and Negan watched the muscles twitch around her clenched jaw. _Fucking firecracker, this one._

"But maybe it's because our introduction to one another got cut short, what with you almost dying in the middle of the goddamned road and all. Let's start over, see if we can't find some common ground. Hi, I'm Negan." He put out his hand.

"What am I supposed to do with that? Are we just gonna pretend you didn't kill Eugene for no reason? Threaten my family? Take me away from my husband? And now you want us to be friends?"

"Being friendly certainly beats the alternative," Negan tapped his fingers on Lucille's grip.

"I'm not afraid of you."

"I'm not asking for your fear. Respect would be a good idea, though, or at least faking it. Considering you," he ticked off his fingers in a callback to her earlier questions, "don't know where you are, don't know what this place is, and have no fucking clue what I've done, or could still do, to your family. Now, why don't we have ourselves a sit-down," he gestured to the small table and two wooden chairs to the side of her bed, "and see if we can't answer some of each other's burning questions."

Sitting at the table meant that Maggie would have to move around the bed, which she'd been using as a means of keeping space between her and Negan, and he knew it. He also made no move to step aside, forcing Maggie to walk within inches of him to get to either chair.

"What do you want?" she ground out through gritted teeth once she'd settled in her seat. Negan sauntered around to the other side of the small round table and plopped himself down, slouching back and stretching his legs in an exaggerated show of relaxation.

"I told you, I want to get to know you."

"Go to hell."

"I'll take that as a recommendation, you having been there quite recently yourself." Negan reached behind him to grab a folder propped on the bedside table and began thumbing through the doctor's notes on Maggie's condition. "You came awfully fucking close to losing that little one. That's a special kind of hell, fearing for your child. Knowing you could lose them and there's not one goddamned, motherfucking thing you can do to stop it."

Maggie snorted, "Oh, like you'd know something about that."

"I do, as a matter of fact. My wife, THE wife, and I had several miscarriages. One stillbirth." His voice was unexpectedly soft, "Losing a child is a terrible thing. Miscarriages are bad enough. Don't let anyone fool you, 'oh, it happens', 'better luck next time'… you could ask either of us anytime, we both knew exactly how old each of those little ones would have been if they'd lived. But to carry that little life all the way to the finish line, to feel him moving around inside her, to build the crib and paint the nursery and pick out names, then go through hours and hours of labor just for that little heart to flutter once, twice, then nothing… he never made a sound. No one could tell us why. As if knowing the why would somehow make it better. 'I'm sorry for your loss' – must be the most useless fucking sentence in the whole goddamned world. Loss, grief… like those silly little words could ever explain how it feels… not even fucking close. There are no words," he finally leveled a hard stare in her direction.

Maggie swallowed involuntarily but maintained her glare, "So what? I'm supposed to feel sorry for you now? Cut you slack on what you did to us because you've lost something? We've all lost people."

"Wow. Here I am opening up to you, sharing something private, something meaningful, and that's nothing to you? Cold, Mrs. Rhee. Very fucking cold. Okay," he leaned forward, "No pleasantries, then. Straight to the real."

He flipped the file open and started pulling phrases from her chart, "'Multiple cysts ruptured… multiple remaining cysts requiring drainage or removal… Placental separation approximately 40%... fetal development places gestation at approximately 25 weeks but size in the lowest percentile likely due to the mother's moderate but prolonged malnutrition… even with treatment may result in complications possibly including late-term miscarriage, stillbirth, or physical and/or mental deficiencies and delayed development after birth. MANDATORY modified bedrest. MANDATORY limited physical activity. MANDATORY restricted travel. MANDATORY high calorie diet (specifications to follow) throughout the remainder of the pregnancy and while nursing to ensure adequate milk production and nutrition for the infant (up to six months)… MANDATORY weekly medical checks… what in the fucking fuck am I supposed to do with you?"

He flipped the file folder shut and used it to point at Maggie's belly. "That little leech in there is bleeding me dry of food, medical resources, and you can't even work to pay it back. I need people who can contribute, who can do their fair share. According to this, you can't do anything more fucking strenuous than stroll around the fucking block a few times a day, and yet you're consuming at least twice as much food. Not to mention that weekly checks on the fucking rugrat are going to use up a shit-ton of medical gel. Do you know how fucking hard that shit is to produce? We have to grow the fucking beans now to harvest the raw gum paste, it's a whole goddamned process that takes a fucking lot of time for not a fucking lot of return on that investment. That's not a bundle of joy in there, it's a fucking parasite. And your rotten attitude, missy, is giving me abso-fucking-lutely no motivation whatsoever to keep it alive."

"If you kill me, if you kill my baby, there'll be nowhere for you to hide. We'll find you – my family will find you and make you pay."

"No. Two reasons: one, you're not my only hostage. Yeah, you missed out on quite a bit after your dramatic exit that night. Your so-called 'family' has a lot more to worry about than your sorry ass. And two: I don't have to tell them shit. I could pick up Lucille and beat the fuck, fucking, fuck out of you right now and you know what would happen? I'd have to apologize to Dr. Towers for not only wasting her time and efforts but also for the god-awful mess your blood and bones would make on the furniture. Maybe offer to help scrub the walls. But that's it. See, I don't actually need you alive. I just need the folks back home to think you are. I take them this file here, they won't even be expecting you for the better part of a year. Lot can happen in a year. They're bound to fuck up at least once. Depending on how badly they do, I tell them I'm killing you right then and there and it's all their fucking fault, or maybe I mercifully just add a few months to your time away. Stretch it out again and again. Could be years before they even begin to suspect something's up. Meanwhile, you and your little brat don't have to cost me a fucking thing. So you tell me why I shouldn't cut my losses right here and now."

"The people here, Dr. Towers, they – "

"They what?" Negan cut her off, "You think they're on your side because they've been nice to you for a few days? Wake the fuck up, sweetheart. These aren't your fucking people. They're my fucking people. That's not your fucking doctor and this isn't your fucking room or your fucking window or your fucking walls. These people and those walls and everything they're protecting? They're not yours – they're mine. My community to trade with based on relationships built over years of mutual trust and respect. And you think your little sob story is going to change any of that? Go ahead, you tell everyone you meet here how the terrible, horrible monster Negan is threatening you for no good reason. See how it goes over with them."

"You think they're not going to realize that you're using them to keep me prisoner here?"

"You want to leave? Leave. I'll put you on the back of my bike, take you out of here myself. Drop you in the middle of fucking nowhere and you can take your chances. Maybe you'll find your way home. But you will never again be able to come back here. They won't let you. They don't even want you knowing the way here. They've already heard all about you Alexandrians and how you fucking butchered my people at my outpost. And my way of telling it is the only way they're ever going to listen to here. And without their fancy diet plan and medical care, I think we both know your odds."

"So I'm not the hostage – my baby is."

Negan smiled, "Now you're catching on. And if you want that baby healthy, want me to continue forking over my considerable resources to keep it alive, then I want something in return."

"And after all that talk about how hard it was to lose a child, how you could understand what I felt," Maggie snidely remarked.

"Those were my children. I don't give a shit about yours."

"I don't believe you," Maggie's voice was soft in realization. "I think you do actually care what happens to this baby. It might be the one good thing about you."

"You might be right." Negan leaned back and gave Maggie silent permission to take her time, look him over, consider her options. A small surrender that would hopefully pay out in the long run.

After a beat, "What do you want?"

Negan smiled, "I want us to talk. Regularly. Not just today, but every time I check in on things here."

"About what?"

"Whatever. You ever see _Silence of the Lambs_? _'Quid pro quo, Clarice_.' You answer my questions, I answer yours."

"Why?"

"I want to get to know you."

"That's not a good enough answer," Maggie argued.

"Ask better questions. Earlier, you said everybody's lost someone. Who did you lose?"

"Why?"

"Nope, my turn."

"Fine. My step-mom and brother died at our farm. My daddy was murdered by someone a hell of a lot like you. My sister was killed not long after."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Do you have any family left? Other than your husband, I mean."

"Nope, my turn," Maggie mimicked his earlier response. "Why do you care if my baby lives?"

"I believe that children are the future."

"Quoting song lyrics? I thought you wanted me to take this seriously."

Negan grinned, "Just because Whitney Houston was probably higher than a fucking kite when she sang those words doesn't mean I don't think they're worth believing in. You've spent the last five and half years doing what, exactly? While you've been scratching out some kind of meager existence, I've been building something, a network of communities strong enough to push back the dead. An empire that can outlast all this shit. What's the point of building all that if there's no one left to keep it going? I'm going to die. You're going to die. Sooner than later, given the fucked-up odds. But your kid and my kids and all the others we save, they can keep going. And they'll remember what we did to make that possible. So, do you have any other relatives left?"

"No, they're all gone. Why is my family so fascinating to you?"

"I'm trying to understand you people," Negan stuck to his story. "Most people do things for a reason. I might think those reasons are stupid or extremely fucked-up, but that doesn't mean they didn't make sense to them. Your people killed a shit-ton of my people. But then you stopped with that one outpost. I want to understand why."

"You could just ask that."

"I could," Negan acknowledged, "But simple questions get simple answers. I wouldn't be satisfied by that, so I'm asking better questions. Why did you attack my outpost?" He contradicted his own logic to throw Maggie off her game.

"To stop you. To protect Hilltop. What about your family? You said you had kids," Maggie recalled his earlier passing mention of his own children.

"Nine kids. Four boys, five girls, another on the way but we're not sure what, we like to be surprised."

"Nine! How – "

"Seven wives," Negan supplied easily, then waited for the inevitable reaction. Maggie's face didn't disappoint.

"How the hell… seven wives?!"

"Hey now, don't knock it 'til you've tried it," he smiled knowingly. "Might not be everyone's cup of fucking tea, but it works for us. Maybe sometime I'll bring you over to my community, let you see how. You never know, might just change your life."

* * *

Tara had thought her return might spark at least a little interest, but no one even met her at the gate. Beyond a cursory 'hey, welcome back' from Francine as she opened the fencing to let her in, Tara was left to her own devices. What the hell had happened while she was gone?

Going to Rick and Michonne's house brought her some answers. While Rick and the others had journeyed to Hilltop, Enid and Carl were left at the house working together, tag-teaming babysitting Judith while working on cataloging all the books. Michonne was an avid reader and had amassed quite a collection in addition to what was already in the home when the Monroe's gifted it to them when they first arrived in Alexandria. Together, the teens explained what had happened, both out on the road and with Negan's unannounced visit.

"So what are we doing to stop him?" Tara asked.

"Nothing," Carl fumed. "Not a damn thing."

"That's not true," Enid spoke up, and, from her tone, Tara got the distinct impression that she'd been forced to play the voice of reason for Carl many times in the last week or so. "The first step to getting rid of them for good is making it so they're here as little as possible, and if making a list of books and furniture does that, then at least that's something. The less we see of Negan, the better. Especially for Judith."

A dark look passed over Carl's face that Tara chose to ignore for the moment. He was wound up tightly enough, and she didn't want to set him off without knowing what she was getting herself into. Instead, Tara reached for the next stack of books to hand over and, in doing so, exposed the rope burns on her wrists.

"What happened?" Carl latched onto her hand and pulled it closer so he could inspect her injuries further. "Was this Negan?"

"No, someone else. And I'm fine, they're just a little protective of their territory."

"Do you think they can help us?" Enid asked.

Tara shook her head, "If anything, they're more likely to help Negan. They're not with him, but they know him."

"How could you tell, did they say something?"

"I saw him," Tara revealed. "With Daryl. The two of them were in a truck trading for supplies. I couldn't see much, they only brought me over so Negan could confirm whether I was part of his group. But if I had to guess, I'd say a good bit of what the Saviors stole from here went straight to these people."

Carl stepped away to get a snack for Judith and Enid slid in a bit closer to Tara, "Whatever's going to happen, I hope we do it soon. You think Carl's being a pain in the butt? Try sharing a house with Glenn. He's going crazy and trying to rein them both in is driving me up the wall."

* * *

Negan was careful to keep pace exactly with King Ezekiel as they walked casually towards the Kingdom's front gates. Ezekiel preferred it – leaders on equal footing. Plus Shiva had a habit of growling if she felt someone was crowding her, and Negan had a healthy respect for anything that could pin him down and snap his neck in a single bite. He knew the leader's eccentric ways annoyed some, but they had never been an issue between the two of them. Negan got it – everybody needs a gimmick. He had his trademark leather jacket and scarf ensemble, and more importantly, he had Lucille. Ezekiel had his Shakespearean cadence and a tiger. _To each his own._

"I appreciate you being so accommodating," Negan always found respect and a bit of over-the-top civility went a long way with the Kingdom-dwellers. _Big on standing on ceremonies, this crowd._

"The Kingdom is always open to those truly in need."

"I sense a 'but' coming on," Negan noted.

"But," Ezekiel paused mid-step and turned to face Negan head-on. "I had expected that you would be taking the Alexandrian with you. She is no longer in crisis. And the hallmark of our great agreement is the Sanctuary's promise of protection from all enemies, both dead and living. Housing a dangerous foe within our walls hardly constitutes protection for the innocents who dwell here in peace."

Negan nodded, "I haven't forgotten. Just like I haven't forgotten how you and your knights came when the distress call from the satellite post went out over the radios. The relationship between our two communities is strong. I'd like to keep it that way."

"A most harrowing event. My people are still in shock that such brutality exists among the living when we should have only the dead to fear. But this is yet another reason to remove the Alexandrian from our realm. The longer she remains, the greater the risk that her people will attack here in retaliation. The Kingdom is a sovereign nation. We are happy to engage in fair trade with you and other communities who deal justly with us, but we want no part in your wars or conquests. Your physicians are as competent and capable as any I have encountered. Surely they can attend to the woman's future care."

"That one certainly looks like he's gearing up for a fight," Negan nodded his head to a man he'd never seen before, a dark-skinned figure masked in shadow as he practiced skillful moves with a single stick on the balcony behind them.

Ezekiel shifted slightly as if to put himself between Negan and the unnamed warrior. "He is a recent arrival to our dominion. A traveler who seeks a place of peace."

"His current behavior would suggest otherwise. I've never seen anyone move like that," Negan was almost as fascinated in the unique fighting style as he was the fact that Ezekiel seemed to be going out of his way to shield him from Negan. "Has he added his name to the list? He may have family or friends looking for him."

The list, or registry, was a common census they'd started in the first years as a means for people who'd been separated in the chaos to find each other. Whenever someone came into one of their communities, they'd add their names, and could also list the names of anyone specific they were searching for. Negan had spread the practice to every community he engaged, an outward gesture of goodwill, and a secret means of tallying his potential enemies. When Beth had arrived at the Sanctuary, she had eagerly added not only her name, but the names of everyone she'd lost track of from the prison, having no idea the information would later come in handy as ammunition Negan could use to keep Alexandria on its toes.

"The man has no family or friends, and he travels alone."

Ezekiel's tone was firm, putting an end to the conversation, but that wasn't what caught Negan's interest. Some people couldn't hold eye contact when they lied, but others, who knew that shifty eyes were a common sign of deception would hold their gaze stiffly, as if staring someone down with increased intensity would force the other to accept what was being said, and Ezekiel was doing that now. _Why lie about him traveling alone? Who is he trying to protect, and why the need to hide them from me?_ Negan's curiosity was piqued, but he knew that now wasn't the time to prod.

"Alexandria has no idea where Maggie or her unborn child are," Negan used her name as an appeal to Ezekiel's humanity, "They don't know the Kingdom exists and even if they did, they have no reason to search here. As you say, the Kingdom is a sovereign nation. They're focused on me, my Sanctuary and its outposts. If that ever changes, if Alexandria attempts to even come close to this place, I will cut them down. You have my word. Dr. Towers informed me that Maggie and her child are still at risk; whatever she's done, that baby inside her is innocent, yes? The child should have the best care possible and, unfortunately, my best doctor isn't at her best at the moment. If it's an issue of resources, I'm happy to provide all that's needed for Maggie and her infant."

"The Kingdom can take care of its own, and its guests. Dr. Towers is a wise woman, and wiser still are those who heed wise words. With your assurances of safety, I will allow the woman from Alexandria to remain until her child is safely delivered into the world and is fit for travel. I am genuinely disheartened to hear of your doctor's troubles."

"Trouble isn't exactly the right word for it. Complications, maybe. We've found her husband."

Ezekiel's exuberant smile was genuine, "This is wonderful news! In her visits here, I have always known Beth Dixon to be a woman of great compassion who brings light and joy to everyone she meets. She and her children deserve every happiness in the world."

Negan nodded in agreement but then added, "Her husband was living in Alexandria. He's part of the war-party that raided our outpost."

"Complications, indeed."

"Um-hmm. He surrendered himself over to us for judgement. Haven't quite decided what to do with him yet," Negan watched Ezekiel for his reaction.

The King was thoughtful, "A noble gesture to be sure, if it's done with sincerity. Regardless, I imagine this unforeseen series of events has left the dear doctor in a difficult and stressful quandary. Her friends have become her foes and even those who know her well may judge her by their actions instead of her own good nature." He paused to consider for a moment before offering, "Please extend my sympathies to Beth, as well as my official invitation. Should she ever desire respite, whether for a moment or for any length of time, the Kingdom will always be a welcome home for her and her children."

Negan shook Ezekiel's hand firmly, "I'll be sure to pass that along." _Or not. You lie to me, you can expect lies in return. And I like Beth right where she is._

* * *

"Murderer."

It was hardly the first time he'd dealt with insults or slurs, but it had been a few years now, and this was a new one. Still, Daryl had a lifetime of practice ignoring hateful comments and whispers behind his back (or to his face) and kept moving as if he'd heard nothing, hauling yet another load of firewood. The main furnace (and the rest of the original factory, for that matter) was fueled by natural gas straight from wells drilled deep in the earth beneath the compound, but newer buildings weren't connected to the pre-apocalyptic lines, and the cold rain had been unrelenting for several days now. So Daryl was made to chop and haul firewood for the school, the greenhouses, the fire-pit next to the garage. His jobs had changed every day – apparently, he was being rotated through every unpleasant task his jailers could think of to see what broke him. Unloading the supplies from Alexandria. Hauling load after load of wet laundry. Clearing out and retrenching the sewage lines when they backed up from the weather. Cleaning up after the common meal (which he was not allowed to eat – it was still dogfood sandwiches for him). From first light to sundown, Daryl was kept on his feet and on the move. Whatever, he was at his best when he was busy. And if Dwight and the others thought sore muscles, an empty belly, and harsh words were going to break him down, they'd clearly never met the likes of old Will Dixon. Turns out his entire shitty childhood was actually serving him well, preparing him with decades' worth of mental and emotional defenses. A little taunting and hard labor wasn't even making a dent in Daryl's armor.

The midday meals had been the hardest, not for the hunger but for seeing Beth from a distance, watching her juggle feeding two toddlers while trying to get in a few bites of her own meal, while also making sure she spent some quality time talking with the other two children she called her own, and while fielding greetings and questions from others at the table or passing by. And the side-eyed stares, the looks of suspicion. Daryl had noticed those, too. She brushed it all off in their nightly conversations as no big deal, but he could see it wearing on her. She was used to being liked, to easy acceptance in any social circle. And why not? She was friendly and helpful to everyone around her. Given time, even crusty jackasses like Merle had a hard time resisting her genuine smile. Of course, she had made friends here. And bringing in a valuable skill-set like all the natural healing remedies she'd learned both from Hershel and from books she poured over in the late hours between nursing two hungry babies, combined with a bright and gentle bedside manner – it was no wonder she'd become an essential part of life at the Sanctuary. But sometime between Daryl's capture/surrender and his turn from pent-up captive to a one-man chain-gang, the connection between him and Beth had become gossip fodder and spread with predictable results. The Dixon last name that had once been a comfort and a shield to her had now become an unwieldy weapon inflicting wounds on its bearer. To some, Beth's more than two years of dedication to their community meant nothing – she had been one of _them_ once. _Guilty by association._ Daryl could have told her that. Being a Dixon had never done anyone any good; why would she be any different?

Except she was different; she was _Beth_. She didn't deserve any of this, and he had no idea how to fix it for her. Another failure. When the prison had fallen, when he'd grabbed her sleeve and pulled her along with him into the woods and away from their broken home, he'd promised himself, for Hershel's sake if not his own, that if they were the only ones left, then he'd do whatever it took to keep this one last member of their family safe. But he hadn't. Couldn't keep her safe from the bastards who'd taken her from the funeral home (which she still wouldn't talk about). And now even his name caused her more harm, at least emotionally.

And hadn't that been the fucking curveball of the century? He'd been caught completely off-guard by her revelation that first night in his cell together. _Hi, missed you, haven't seen you in forever, oh by the way I'm your wife._ What the hell was he even supposed to say to that? Of all the labels he'd tried to come up with to describe whatever it was they were to each other, husband and wife had never been contenders. Had never even crossed his mind. Daryl Dixon didn't date. He didn't even kiss, much less do anything else with, the bar sluts and hookers Merle had tried to shove his way when they were drifting from one shiftless deal to the next. He definitely didn't kiss (or touch, or look too long at) girls as pretty and good as Beth Green. No, _Dixon._ Had to get that straight in his head, because there was nothing for it, now. Beth needed him, and if this is what it took to keep Negan from trying to claim her as yet another trophy wife, Daryl would definitely step up and protect her any way he could. He just hadn't quite imagined this.

Because, of course, it wasn't just Beth. If that had been the only layer to this subterfuge, they probably would have been okay. He wasn't allowed any contact with her beyond her daily visits to his cell, and they could say whatever they wanted about what did or did not happen behind that closed door. But Beth had kids. Which meant that Daryl wasn't just playing husband, he was also playing Daddy. Something else he'd sworn he'd never be or do. He'd meant it when he told Beth all those years ago that the Dixon line ought to end with him and Merle, that cutting down the family tree would be the best thing that could happen to it. Even Merle, with all his crazy shenanigans and drunken one-night stands had always make sure that there were no little Dixon bastards running around out there. Because even his hard-headed self had gotten it. No good ever came of being a Dixon – why curse some poor hapless child with their bad blood?

And then there was the practicality of it. Sure, the twins had been born here and would have no memorable ties to him. But the older two kids… Beth had explained that she had never explicitly said that they were hers by blood, but most people just assumed they were. It had been helpful. And it had worked out fine, until this shit-storm hit. Beth had always looked young for her age (and her real age was way too young for Daryl to properly wrap his mind around considering their current supposed status), but a woman comes in with a couple of seven- and five-year-old kids, and people just assume she must be older than she appears. Beth had just never corrected their assumptions – not a lie, exactly, though Negan might take it that way. And Daryl had heard about his rules and didn't want to spend too much time dwelling on what would happen to Beth if he decided that her story constituted a serious enough offence to warrant taking a heated iron to her face. Because seven and five, now ten and seven-soon-to-be-eight, were plenty old enough to remember who their father was. To have some kind of prior relationship with him. Old enough to be expected to share stories about their memories if Negan came around asking. And how were they supposed to fake that? When he'd asked, Beth had simply smiled and told him not to worry about it. Worrying about her was all Daryl seemed to do these days. But Beth, it seemed, already had it covered.

No matter what his other duties changed to, this first job of each day, it seemed, was to be a permanent fixture. Before the sun could even make its appearance on the horizon, Daryl was out beyond the fences to stir up the walkers secured in uneven rows along the outer border. As gruesome as the sight of all the dead shackled in various positions and lengths of chain were, Daryl immediately saw the advantages. The sounds and stench of the 'living' wall formed a natural defense against any unsecured walkers who came near the Sanctuary. Much like Michonne's pet walkers from her solitary days, the walker fence acted as camouflage for the community, masking the sounds and smells of the living. As morbid as it seemed, Daryl wished they'd come up with something like this for the prison. They'd been forever struggling against walkers congregating on the outer chain link, pushing in on the ever-weakening structure. What if they had just allowed a set number to fill the man-made alley between the two fences, sectioning off the gated area so their cars could pass through freely? It wouldn't have stopped the Governor, of course, but it might have slowed down some of his soldiers as they broke down their fencing, bought people more time to escape. And all the months before that, they wouldn't have had to waste nearly as much time walking the fences every day.

The downside to the Sanctuary's walker fence was that, at night when activity died down in the open courtyards, the walkers would stop shuffling and gasping, having no fresh prey to taunt them. And noise they made was part of the protection they unwittingly provided. So, every morning, Daryl was now the designated person who went out to stir them up and deal with any walkers who had wandered up in the night. There were generally no more than a dozen or so, some stumbling in the distance through the open fields that would soon be planted with whatever crops the Sanctuary needed space for beyond what the greenhouses could handle. Others would be mixed in with the secured walkers, meaning they could (and did) lash out at Daryl with nothing to hold them back. Dwight had 'generously' provided Daryl with a couple of lengths of rusted metal rebar and would then disappear for the hour or so it took Daryl to get all the way around the compound. Either a morning smoke or an extra hour of sleep, Daryl didn't know and didn't care. It was quickly becoming his second-favorite time of the day (Beth's visits taking first place); the solitude was a welcome change of pace.

Except he wasn't alone now. On his third morning out, a boy with long-ish wavy light brown hair and hazel eyes was standing awkwardly behind him with a serious, well-crafted compound bow slightly too large for his hands and a quiver of high-grade arrows peeking over the top of his jean-jacket clad shoulder. _Tim_. It had to be Beth's oldest adopted child. Daryl had only seen glimpses of the kid from across the factory floor, but there was no doubt in Daryl's mind. No one else would have come right up to him like this.

"Do you mind if I practice?"

Daryl wasn't sure how to handle this. On one hand, he'd been ordered not to speak or even make eye contact with anyone, and he wasn't about to jeopardize what little time he had with Beth. On the other hand, this had to be Beth's doing – what ten-year-old willing drags themselves out of bed before sunrise to talk with the Sanctuary's resident 'war criminal' (another term of endearment he'd been given from some of the Sanctuary's residents)? And in the rain, no less? The steady drops were already plastering the boy's hair to his head. It would have been nice if she'd given him a little warning, but if she had some kind of plan in the works, better to go along with it.

"Pretty sure you don't need my permission," Daryl's lips quirked in a slight, rueful grin as glanced down at his jumpsuit, already waterlogged again even after he'd laid it out to dry on the floor after Beth left the night before. Something else he was sure his guards thought would get under his skin. He'd hunted in the rain plenty of times growing up. Didn't they realize that rain just meant free water for him to drink whenever he liked, a free shower and the only washing his clothes were likely to see?

"Not permission exactly, but I have to have an adult with me to be outside the fences. So, do you mind? I'm trying to build up my count." He lifted the bow slightly, as if that explained everything. It didn't. But Daryl wordlessly nodded and made himself more aware of the boy's location as they both worked their way around the fence. It wouldn't do for a stray walker to slip by him and bite Beth's son, after all. Not that Daryl would ever let that happen.

Tim was focused on the stragglers in the field and was, Daryl noted, a pretty good shot. Eight walkers and a bow that was clearly sized for an adult, but the small, skinny boy hit the walkers every time and only missed the kill shot on the first try with two of them. Of course, he also had the advantage of distance, all the walkers being decently far enough away that the kid could take his time lining up each shot. _We'll work on that_, Daryl found himself thinking. Barely fifteen minutes and it seemed he was already well on his way to stepping into the role Beth had unwittingly chosen for him.

Daryl was pleased to see that Tim had the presence of mind to draw his knife from his belt before going to retrieve his arrows. Beth had clearly taught him well. Or someone had before her. Daryl wondered not for the first time how Tim and his sister (if they were actually related before being adopted by Beth) had ended up in the same place she had. He really wished she would open up about whatever had happened to her. Patience was a lot harder than he thought it would be, at least on this front.

A few days later, and Daryl and Tim had built something of a morning ritual for themselves. Tim always waited until he saw Dwight leave before meeting Daryl on the other side of the gate. Daryl took care of any walkers who had worked their way into the fence line while Tim handled the ones in the fields, mostly working in silence. Occasionally, Daryl would correct Tim's stance or grip with quiet words, or encourage Tim to wait until the dead had come closer before lining up his shot so he'd learn to do it faster. When they were nearly done, Tim would jog out to each body and collect his arrows before slipping back through the main gate and into the factory before Dwight could see him.

But this morning, the rain was a little lighter than it had been for the last several days, only a drizzle, really, and it seemed as good a time as any to change up their routine. "Do you earn points for each kill?"

Tim paused mid-pull on the bowstring but didn't ask for clarification before answering, "Not yet. Once you turn ten, you get to start counting each dead one you put down. When you get to 1,000, you're a grown-up, sort-of. If you hit the mark before you're eighteen, you still go to school, but only half-time. The other half, you can find a mentor, someone who can teach you a trade, and you earn half-points while you're learning from them until they say you're good enough that you don't have to be taught anymore. And you get 1000 points for hitting that mark. Most use it to buy their first gun, 'cause you can't have one until you prove you can take care of yourself without it. If you turn eighteen and you still haven't put down 1,000 walkers, then you stop going to school, but you can't pick any work that would take you outside the fences, and you can't carry a gun. If you're really smart, they might let you pick what job you want to learn, but most people who can't hold their own just go work in the kitchens or laundry or something like that. You get the points from your earlier count, but you can't use them on any kind of weapon. Plus everyone knows you couldn't hack it."

"Don't think you gotta worry about that. Rate you're goin', you'll hit your thousand kills before summer." Daryl wasn't exaggerating by much – roughly ten walkers a day meant somewhere around 300 a month. If Negan was looking to create child soldiers, he was off to a good start. Tim and all his classmates could have guns in hand before they hit puberty. Daryl had seen first-hand how Carl had struggled with handling that power at a young age.

"I doubt it," Tim's dejected tone brought Daryl back to the moment. "I mean, yeah, I'm getting a lot now, but that's just because no one else thought to get out here early enough. Or they couldn't talk their parents into it. You have to have an adult with you until you've hit the mark. Mom tries, but she's awful busy and I don't want to be a bother. Besides, at least 300 have to be hand-to-hand. It'll probably be years before I can do that."

Daryl frowned deeply. No, he didn't want the boy toting a gun and raiding communities with the Saviors, but he also didn't like the self-doubt he heard in the kid's voice. Reminded him too much of himself. He stopped jerking at the chained walkers and stepped in front of Tim, mentally noting the small cluster of walkers ambling towards them in the distance. "First off, your Mama would never think of you as a bother, so you can cut that shit out now. And what makes you think you can't kill a walker close-up? Got a knife, don't ya?"

"Well, yeah, but I'm too short to reach." Tim clearly thought that much was obvious.

Secretly, Daryl agreed that Tim was small for his age. But he hadn't been much taller himself and he'd managed to turn out decent enough. "Bein' short is just like anythin' else. It ain't a weakness unless you let it be. Use it right and being small works in your favor. You ain't too short, they're too tall. You can bring them down to your level, but they always gotta over-reach to get to you, and that puts 'em off balance."

He took one of the lengths of rebar he'd been given to poke at the fence walkers and offered it to Tim. "Shoulder the bow and take this in your right hand, knife in your left."

"But I'm right-handed. Shouldn't I put the blade in my best hand?" Even as he asked, Tim moved to follow Daryl's instructions.

"Your right arm's your strong arm. In a fight, it's the one you bring up first, so it's the one you want to swing and block with. Give the rebar a practice swing."

Tim did and nearly lost control. "It's too long, it doesn't feel right."

"Tuck it in your jacket sleeve and slide it back until the balance feels good."

It took him a few tries to get it right, but now the bar, Daryl explained, was acting as protection for his arm as well as a weapon.

Daryl guided the boy back towards the fence to a walker whose chain gave it a little more leeway than some of the others. "Now watch what I do. I'mma go slow and talk it through."

"But shouldn't we –" Tim pointed back to the approaching cluster. "They're coming up awfully fast."

"Nah," Daryl dismissed, "They're comin' at the same speed they always do. They ain't a problem until they actually get here. You learn to mark the pace, keep time in your head, ya ain't gotta watch 'em. You'll know when they're comin'. When they get here, what you wanna do is bring 'em down at the back of the knee at an angle," Daryl demonstrated by walking directly up to the chained corpse but dodging left when he was just out of reach and swinging his own rebar to connect solidly with the side of the walker's leg at the joint. As he'd anticipated, it fell forward and away from him, not bothering to throw its arms out to catch itself before its face hit the dirt. Daryl pivoted on his foot and mimed a knife strike with his empty left fist to the back of the walker's skull.

"Don't matter how tall you are once it's on the ground. Just don't give it time to turn around on ya. But if it does, step back, let it get to its feet, try again. Think you got it?"

Tim nodded and adjusted his grip on his knife handle. They both turned back to face the oncoming group, four walkers who all seemed to have died around the same time years ago judging by their rate of decay.

"Your Mama teach you how to break up a group?" Another silent nod. "Good, take 'em one at a time. Here we go."

They moved apart, Daryl drawing the three closest while not moving too far away that he couldn't step in if Tim lost his footing or otherwise couldn't hold his own, but the kid had a knack for it. His first swing was a little too hesitant, but he darted backwards and then moved right back in for a more solid hit, dodging to the side just as Daryl had shown him. One by one, Tim brought each down to its knees and finished it off with a quick jab, using the rebar for purchase to pull his blade back out and face the next one.

When they were all down, Tim had a small but satisfied grin on his face, which Daryl returned with an upward jerk of his head in acknowledgement of a job well done.

"Hey! What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Daryl turned back to the gate to see Dwight leveling his loaded crossbow in their direction.

"You did nothing wrong," he was quiet but firm with Tim. "You walk right through that gate and straight to your Mama and you let me deal with him."

They walked side by side through the drizzling rain back to the opening in the fence, where Dwight was waiting to grab Daryl by the scruff of his sweatshirt and jerk him inside. "The fuck gives you the right to talk to any of us, huh?"

Despite what Daryl had told him, Tim wasn't going inside, but doing his best to match the two men's quick pace across the courtyard. "Mr. Anders, please, I was just working on my count and he was keeping watch for me, that's all."

But Dwight wasn't hearing any of it, "I told Negan you'd fuck up sooner or later."

"And how exactly did Daryl fuck up, if I may ask?"

Negan's voice was like a gunshot across the empty yard. Dwight whirled around in surprise, dragging Daryl with him and then forcing him to his knees. From the edges of his vision, he could see Tim on one knee as well.

Negan sauntered over from the greenhouse he'd just exited, his belt undone and t-shirt askew, his leather jacket being used by one of his wives as a makeshift umbrella. She should have been using it as an overcoat, Daryl thought to himself. Her silky nightshirt barely covered the tops of her thighs and the fabric wasn't much protection against the wet spring morning's chill.

"Kid, up," he twitched two fingers in Tim's direction until the boy was standing in front of him. "What's your count up to so far?"

"48, Mr. Negan."

Negan nodded his approval, "And you just turned ten, what, couple of months ago?"

"January, yes, sir."

"Damned impressive. That's your mother's bow, am I right? She teach you how to use it?"

Daryl watched Tim nod from his place on the ground, Dwight still bearing down on his neck with a tightly-squeezing hand.

"Well, that's some damned fine work you're doing out there. Not too many your age would take the initiative to get up and at 'em this early in the morning. Not too many adults, either, for that matter." Negan turned to his wife, "This boy's been out there every morning for days now clearing the dead creeping out of the tree line. You think ours will have his drive when they get old enough?"

The woman giggled, "They've got enough fight in them now, that's for sure. I should get in there before they wake up and realize there's no one to stop them from tearing their room apart."

Negan grinned and pulled her in for a kiss, "You do that, I'll be up soon enough."

"I bet you will," her hand brushed across his pant zipper. He caught her lip between his teeth in response before pulling back slowly with a smirk.

"To be continued…" he promised before letting go so she could head inside.

"Sorry about that, kid," though his tone was about as far from apologetic as it could be. "Refresh my memory, what's your name?"

"Tim Dixon, sir."

"And which group are you in, Tim Dixon?"

"Mr. Derek and Ms. Price are our teachers, Mr. Negan."

"Yeah, that doesn't actually help me, kid – what's your team name? What do you call yourselves?"

"We don't have one yet."

"Ah, the new class," Negan looked on, considering. "I'm not in the habit of telling the teaching staff how to run things, but from what I've heard, whenever they have to split off a new youth team, they tend to draft out the misfits from the other groups. The ones who don't belong, the ones the other kids are afraid might hold their team back. But in my experience, underdogs can surprise you. They've got something to prove. You're shaping up to be a hell of a fine shot from what I've seen. You keep up the good work, Tim Dixon. I'm expecting big things out of you. Go on, now, get ready for school."

Once the boy had shut the factory door behind him, Negan rounded on Dwight, whom he still hadn't allowed to stand. "_Tell me,_ Dwighty-boy, that you were _not _about to interrupt my morning fuck with some stupid-ass bullshit whining."

Daryl had dealt enough bullies in his lifetime to know when to keep his mouth shut. Dwight, apparently, hadn't been blessed with that particular wisdom. "You said he wasn't allowed to speak to anyone, and I just found him not only talking to but – "

"Holy fucking shit, a father teaching his son survival skills – stop the fucking presses, it's a goddamned sign from heaven above! News flash, dick-head, the kid's been going out there for four days now. You'd know that if you weren't dropping Daryl off outside the gate and then hightailing it to the showers to jack off."

Daryl watched with grim satisfaction as the blush rose in Dwight's scarred cheek. "I'll keep a closer eye on him from now on."

"Why fucking bother? He's not going anywhere. So he's teaching his kid a useful skill, the kid will turn around and use it to make our people stronger and safer – the fuck would I care about stopping that? Give Daryl his to-do list for the day and then get yourself back on the job like everybody else, instead of hiding behind him as an excuse to laze about all fucking day long. Vacation's over, D."

_That went better than it could have,_ Daryl thought as Negan strolled away whistling. Crisis averted, at least this time around. Of course, with his luck, the next one was bound to be right around the corner.

* * *

**Already hard at work on the next chapter. Until then, all reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated!**


	10. Chapter 10

**... and here's the fully updated version. Happy Reading!**

* * *

Chapter 10: The Art of the Deal, Pt. I

The rain was coming down in sheets by the time Negan's convoy pulled up to Alexandria's gates. Instead of everyone parking at the entrance, Negan's truck drove straight down to the main storehouse while the rest strategically spread out throughout the safe zone. As far as Rick was concerned, the rain was actually a blessing in disguise, as it was keeping all of Alexandria's residents in their homes and, by extension, away from the Saviors. It also seemed to be keeping the Saviors away as well. Rick watched as only Negan and Daryl got out of the truck to join him and Olivia, already waiting in the open garage next to a shelf of new binders, neatly arranged and labeled with the addresses on the spines.

On the table in front of them was the largest binder, already open. Negan was all smiles as he sauntered into the double-car garage and took off the baseball cap he'd been using to shield his face from the worst of the weather, shaking it out before casually hanging it off the corner of a nearby shelf. Daryl, of course, had no such protection, and was also not invited under the shelter of the garage's roof, but made to wait in the rain while Negan surveyed the newly-expanded inventory. Rick forced himself to keep his eyes on Negan and not on Daryl's hunched frame hovering just outside the garage entrance.

"Very nice," Negan murmured as he perused the largest binder, which was a master index sorted by category and then broken down into individual items, with a list of homes and notes about how many of each were available at every address. "Olivia, I am fucking impressed. This was a massive fucking job, and you have clearly stepped up your game."

"It's not quite done yet, I'm still compiling everything," she admitted with some nervousness.

Rick took a step forward and put a discreet hand on her back to steady her while addressing Negan, "Everybody's taking responsibility for their own homes, but Olivia wanted to go behind and double-check everything herself. That's going to take some time."

Negan nodded, "Of course it is. There's a ridiculous pile of shit to go through in each and every one of these McMansions, and it would take a hell of a lot longer than one little old week to be absolutely sure you didn't miss a single thing. And I'd expect nothing less from somebody as thorough and organized as our friend Olivia has already proven herself to be. I've got no complaints here, Rick, this is exactly what I was hoping to see." He turned his attention back to the ledger, flipping back to the section he needed and noting on a spare sheet of paper what he wanted and where it could be found. "I assume you'd rather we pulled from the vacant houses first whenever possible," he observed without looking up.

"If it's alright with you," Olivia responded.

Negan grinned, "Doesn't mean shit to me, as long as we get what we came for. Daryl!" He snapped his fingers and pointed at the floor next to him. Rick couldn't quite help his chest tightening to see Daryl obediently shuffle into the garage to stand next to where Negan had leaned Lucille against the edge of the table, head down and water dripping off his hair, nose, and chin as Negan gave him orders on what to take for Alexandria's "contribution". The words washed over Rick – it didn't matter what Negan decided to claim from their community. He was too focused on his friend's deteriorating condition.

The sweat suit was the same from the last visit, but now filthier and soaked through, the water weighing the grungy cloth enough to pull it down from around Daryl's neck, exposing chafed and raw-looking skin under layers of filth and grime. There were spots of old blood showing through the material at the shoulder where he'd been shot, indicating the bullet hole had reopened at least once since Rick last saw him. Daryl's complexion was paler than Rick could remember the normally tanned redneck ever being before, with heavy, dark bags under his sunken-in eyes. He was losing weight, clearly burning off a lot more than he was taking in. That part wasn't necessarily new; the last year had been rough on their whole community. With the crops failing and food storage running dangerously low, strict rations had cost everyone more than few pounds. Even the children's portions had been cut back, though not as much, and Rick knew he wasn't the only one to call Daryl out on slipping his meager share to the kids on multiple occasions. But this was something more – maybe because Rick wasn't seeing Daryl every day, which made the changes seem more dramatic, maybe the combination of all the rest and the added stress of not knowing what Negan would do to them next.

"Have Tyler follow you with the truck. Don't want our shit getting ruined in all this rain," Negan directed.

_This can't last_, Rick thought as he watched his best friend trudge down the street with one of Negan's trucks slowly rolling along behind him. _He__ can't last, not like this._

Squaring his shoulders, Rick eased around the table to stand next to Negan. "We can get some of our people to help – " Negan raised his hand to cut Rick off mid-sentence.

"Nope. Not fucking happenin', Rick. Either Daryl can handle it, or he can't. And he knows what will happen if he can't."

"He'll be no good to you if you keep wearing him down like this."

Negan tipped his head as he stared Rick down. "You worried about him?"

Rick went for honesty, "I'm worried about all of them."

Negan stepped into Rick's personal space, "What I do with Daryl is my fucking business. He's mine, now, remember? You all are. That's what you promised me. You haven't forgotten that, have you? Maybe what you need is for us to take a stroll down to your home, get ourselves a little reminder of where your priorities should be." Negan tapped Rick's axe handle so it knocked gently against his leg from where it was situated in his belt. "Is that what you need?"

Rick looked down as he shook his head, his words choking in his throat as he remembered the feel of the axe handle in one hand, Carl's wrist in the other. It had been the single worst moment of his life, worse than losing Lori, he was ashamed to admit even to himself. Maybe matched only by the day he'd woken up in the hospital and found the world had gone mad, found his house empty with no way of knowing how he'd ever see his family again. But even that had carried a small flicker of hope, the missing picture albums a sign that they'd left by choice, were out there somewhere. Even when Negan had put Judith in his lap last week, Rick had been fairly confident that she would be alright, that he could get her away from Negan without any harm coming to her. Facing the reality of not just seeing his son bleeding and in agony, but being the cause of it… Rick still couldn't process, couldn't swallow around the idea.

"Say the words, Rick," Negan whispered barely an inch from his ear.

It took a couple of deep breaths before he could manage, "We work for you. We provide for you. We belong to you."

"That's right. Now, Daryl is out there doing his part. It'd be a fucking shame if you went and tried to take that away from him. Come on, walk with me," Negan suddenly straightened and slapped Rick on the back, "All this rain we've been getting has left me feeling downright shitty. A visit with that pretty little angel of yours is just the ticket."

Negan cheerfully swung Lucille over his shoulder and shook out the ball cap before tugging it back low on his forehead, but Rick stayed rooted to the spot. "Please," he ground out in a near-whisper.

Negan turned back grinning, his white teeth gleaming from the harsh fluorescent lights overhead, "Rick. Walk with me."

There was no choice but to follow him out into the storm.

* * *

Abraham knew that a lot of people assumed that, being as large and in-your-face as he was, that he couldn't be stealthy. Being small-statured like Glenn certainly helped when it came to sneaking around, but the ex-army sergeant knew it was more about the way you carried yourself. Creeping slowly between buildings or darting quickly across open space often drew more attention because the movements were unnatural, and people's instincts honed in on things that weren't part of the everyday. So Abraham often found that, if he just walked casually, head high and eyes forward, that it didn't matter if he was seen, because his movement was dismissed as being routine. If you acted like you didn't care if you were spotted, then the people who spotted you didn't care about what they saw.

Which is how he found himself waiting in a vacant house on the edge of Newbury Lane's cul-de-sac, waiting for Daryl and his accompanying truck to finish next door and come to him. The rain helped, too, of course. Nobody wanted to be out in it, and those who had to be were looking down to avoid getting water in their eyes. Abraham had bigger things to concern himself with. Like getting a few minutes alone with Daryl on what might be the only occasion where the Saviors weren't dogging his every step.

Abraham was careful not to lean against any of the walls as he hovered in the dark hallway that led to the downstairs master suite, afraid his waterlogged clothes would leave marks on the dusty drywall. There was enough foot traffic in the months-worth of dust and dirt on the floors that no one would likely notice yet another set of muddy boot-prints. From his position, he had good access to both the kitchen and living room, depending on which entrance Daryl used, or could slip silently to the back of the house if Daryl had a guard with him. And being in the hallway meant there was no chance anyone outside would see his silhouette through the windows.

The front door hinges made a low-pitched creak as the door was pushed open. The owners of this home had died years ago and no one had since been assigned to fill the space, but it was still fully decked out with dusty but still high-quality furniture. Daryl was the only one to enter the house and Abraham noted that he paused just for a second, glancing in his direction, before walking deliberately past him to the open kitchen/dining area and grabbing the two nearest high-backed wood chairs from the dining room table set and starting to move back to the door.

"Slow down for two damned seconds, Dixon," Abraham tried to keep his voice low but still audible over the rain.

But Daryl acted as though he hadn't heard anything, pausing only long enough to readjust the burden in his arms before turning sideways to get both chairs through the open front door. Abraham huffed, frustrated, but he got it. If Daryl took too long, someone was likely to come check on him. They'd have to do this in short bursts.

As soon as Daryl was through the front door, Abraham wasted no time, "Aaron's getting us coded messages through his letters, but it's not enough and too fucking vague to be of any damn use. We need numbers, a location, security layout, guard rotations, anything you can give us so we…"

But, again, Daryl didn't slow down, didn't even glance in Abraham's direction. _Maybe he knows he's still not clear to talk._ Abraham listened for a moment before risking moving into the kitchen to verify – there was no one around the back of the house to catch sight of him. He already knew there was no one on the front porch. _Were they timing him, maybe? More than 60 seconds per round trip and we'll take it out on one of the others?_ Abraham knew Daryl well enough to know that, if it were only his own life on the line, the surly redneck wouldn't bother taking shit from anyone. The two of them might never have fully seen eye to eye on much of anything, but they had that sense of duty in common and respected each other's willingness to sacrifice for the greater good. But this was too damned important. Negan had to be stopped, had to pay for what he'd done to Eugene, to Denise… and gathering real, useful intelligence on his operation was priority one. Hilltop clearly couldn't be trusted to deliver the goods, and Aaron's code, while it showed a certain ingenuity that Abraham hadn't expected from the passive man, wasn't designed to hide the kind of information they vitally needed to take down Negan's stronghold.

And that was the only option now, from where Abraham sat. Going after individual outposts was a waste of time and resources they didn't have. They needed to hit Negan hard and fast, in his own home and when he least expected it. And to hell with low-grade, cutesy little cherry bombs like they'd used at the satellite station. No, they'd need to execute any guards on duty, move in fast, and set real explosives to bring every building in the Saviors' compound down with them inside, and be done with them once and for all. Yes, there were civilians in there who would end up casualties of war, but anything less than total annihilation of Negan's forces would mean a counterstrike, and they didn't have the man- or fire-power to withstand an attack on Alexandria. Abraham was confident he could get Rick to see reason, but not while Negan held three of their own hostage. And these three in particular. If it had been just Daryl, Abraham was fairly certain he could have made Rick realize that Daryl would be just as willing to give his life to see Negan brought down as he himself would be if their positions were reversed. But Maggie with a bun in the oven and Aaron with his doe-eyed family… Abraham had to show Rick at least an attempt at rescuing them, and the key to making that happen was tromping more mud through the living room to pick up the last two dining room chairs.

Abraham reached out and grabbed Daryl's grimy sleeve, "We're clear to talk. Come on, what have you seen?"

Again, nothing. Daryl kept his gaze locked on the furniture and tried to pull away, but Abraham wasn't having it. "What, has he got you wire-tapped or some shit?" He held on with one hand while roughly patting Daryl's back with the other, searching for some kind of battery pack or recording device secured under the sour-smelling jump suit. That, at least, got Daryl to react, flinching and violently wrenching himself away, heavy breaths through his nostrils. Both men heard the ripping of fabric as part of the sweatshirt's stitching tore at the collar, not significant, but enough of a hole that someone was likely to notice. It gave Abraham pause just for a second, but that was all Daryl needed to push past him and silently pick up the last two chairs.

But just because he wasn't physically reaching out anymore didn't mean Abraham was ready to let go of his quest, "The hell's wrong with you, man? It's your life we're trying to save here. And Maggie. And Aaron. Negan's got Rick by the short hairs as long as he's holding prisoners, and I can't get him to budge until I can give him some kind of reasonable plan for getting at least one of you out alive. Help me out here, Dixon, give me something I can use!"

But Daryl was out the door again. Based on what he'd observed at the other vacant homes, Abraham figured he had one last opportunity, when Daryl came back for the table. _Maybe that's the chance he's been waiting on._ He knew the chairs were a quick in-and-out, but hefting a solid wood table for six people by himself was awkward, took time. _Maybe he knows that's his best chance to pass intel along, because he knows he can afford the extra minutes. _

When Daryl returned for the table, Abraham was ready, moving to the end nearest the living room and resting both hands, and most of his weight, on the solid surface. He said nothing, just stared at Daryl as he tried to wrench the other end, but Abraham's burly weight held the table firmly in place. He could see it was annoying the smaller man to be physically outmatched, jaw clenched and neck muscles taut both from exertion and frustration. Finally, Daryl glanced up, two sets of blue eyes flashing as they met before Daryl dropped his stare back to the tabletop.

"The fuck did he did to you, huh? Did Negan break you? Knock you around a bit, call you bad names, and now you're his bitch, is that it?" Abraham only said it as a jab to get a rise, and hopefully some words, out of Daryl, but now he wasn't so sure it wasn't the truth. He could see his questions clearly rankled, dug under Daryl's skin, but here they were, alone and with what might be their last opportunity to share intel, and Daryl wasn't giving an inch.

"Does loyalty mean nothing to you? Honor? I thought you and Rick were thick as thieves. Is this all it takes for you to turn on your own family?" Abraham kept digging. Anything he could think of to get _something_ out of the man in front of him.

Daryl seemed to consider his options for a moment before letting go of the table. Abraham did the same, side-stepping to block the path to the front door with his considerable frame. "I'm not moving until you give me something. So either help me out or get us both caught and probably killed – your call."

Abraham watched as Daryl chewed on the inside of his lower lip before seeming to make up his mind. Instead of reaching for the table or moving towards the man in front of him, Daryl abruptly turned his heel and walked empty-handed through the kitchen and out the back door. Abraham blinked – he honestly hadn't considered that possibility. But now he moved quickly towards the front of the house where, sure enough, he could see Daryl was talking to the Savior in the truck through the open driver's side window. There was no way for Abraham to make out what they were saying both from the distance and from the pounding of the rain on the roof overhead, but it didn't matter. He knew he only had a few seconds, and he used them to move quickly out the back door and around the side of the adjacent house to avoid being seen. From there, he was able to circle around and watch unnoticed as Daryl and the Savior carried the table out the front door together.

_Jesus Christ, he's a goddamned traitor._

* * *

Rick made one last attempt as he and Negan stood on the front porch, wiping the worst of the rainwater from their jackets and faces. "You don't have to do this. I get it, I really do."

"I believe you," Negan replied, edging closer to Rick. "Fuck, Rick, we're not here for punishment. If I decide to punish you, believe me, you'll fucking know you're being punished, and you'll fucking know the reason why. But you know the old saying about actions being louder than words. So, I fucking hear you saying you fucking get it, and now, I need to fucking _see_ you fucking getting it. Show me that you remember just whose fucking door this is, whose fucking people these are."

Rick nodded and kept his eyes down, "It's your door. They're your people." But when he grabbed the knob to turn it and invite Negan into his home, the door was pulled away from him from the inside.

Michonne managed to look simultaneously both completely relaxed and entirely battle-ready as she stepped into the door frame and presented a rolled-up piece of faded yellow construction paper to Negan. "Judith remembered your promise to take another drawing to Daryl. She's already got one picked out for you."

He smiled brightly, "Well, good morning, Mrs. Grimes! We missed each other on my last visit. I was worried with all this fucking rain I might not get to see you today, either, but here we are."

"Here we are," she deadpanned, "And here you go." She thrust the paper closer to him.

Negan didn't even bother to unroll it, "Ooh, mama is out in force today, protecting her cubs. But I think we all know this isn't going to fucking cut it. Come on now, let's keep things pleasant. You know, for the kids," he winked. "May I come in?"

Only after a meaningful look from Rick did Michonne wordlessly stand back just enough to allow both men to enter. Negan flicked the light-switch a couple of times with no results. "Fucking I thought I remembered seeing a cluster of solar panels. Was all that shit just for show?"

"It's been raining for a solid week. Without a break in the clouds, the power cells are drained," Rick supplied as he hung up Negan's leather jacket on the hooks by the front door before removing his own.

"Well, that's a damned shame. We're on geothermal power ourselves. That shit's fucking awesome, supposed to never need replenishing. Unless shit breaks down, of course, but, knock on wood, we've done alright in that department. Still, fucking boy scout motto, _be prepared_… thought about setting up solar panels as a backup but this definitely has me second-guessing."

Rick's ears pricked at the casually-dropped reference to the Saviors' home base but did his best to remember his police interrogation training and give no outward sign of increased interest, "That's got to be an interesting challenge, at least from a maintenance perspective. Not too many people who would even know how to go about checking for issues, unless you've got some of the original engineers."

"Not the original builders, but I got a crew who knows their shit." Negan surveyed the main room, "I didn't get to fully appreciate the space last week, what with Carl's little cowboys-and-Indians shtick, but this is one hell of a collection you've got going on, new world version of the fucking library of Alexandria," he chuckled as he perused the bookshelves, pausing now and then to hum appreciatively at various titles, "And not just for impressing the neighbors, either, spines are cracked, these are well-read. Who's the bookworm? Michonne, I'm guessing? Not that you couldn't be an avid reader, Rick, but… Toni Morrison? Voltaire in the original French?" He raised his eyebrows quizzically. "Not exactly what I picture you reading when you're all cozied up together by the fireplace."

Rick glanced to Michonne as she responded, "Nothing wrong with a little light reading at the end of the day."

"Nothing wrong with that at all," Negan agreed. "As long as there's some good company to go with it," he grinned lasciviously. All three settled in the living room, Negan sprawling casually in the armchair with Lucille at his side, Rick and Michonne taking up uneasy perches on the couch as Negan took off his baseball cap and shaped it to fit on the end of the overstuffed arm of his chair. "Relax, you two. It's gonna take Daryl more than a few minutes to haul all that shit for me, and we gotta pass the time somehow. Might as well make conversation, if it's all the same to you."

"I'd rather not have you under the same roof as our kids, _if it's all the same to you_." Michonne fired back. Rick tried to keep his sigh to himself. This was going to happen, Negan invading their space, and they might as well take advantage to try and pull some useful information out of him, but for that, he needed Michonne to play along, and a good cop/bad cop routine was more likely to antagonize Negan into shutting down rather than opening up.

"Since we're going for brutal honesty, which is my preferred means of conversing by the fucking way, I'd rather not be under your roof, either. As lovely as your home is, I'd much rather be surveying the progress at my new outpost, having a chat with the people you butchered. Since you took that option from me, you've fucking lost the right to a Negan-free household. But, hey, when life hands you an ass-load of lemons… that reminds me, thank you for that fucking delicious lemonade last week. Some people try to skimp on the powdered shit, make it last longer with a weak-ass flavor, but not you. You mixed it up right, good strong shit that's really worth drinking."

"About last week," Rick began, "Carl was – " Negan waved him off.

"It's done and dealt with. No need to dwell on it. All teenagers are assholes, am I right? The trick is to teach 'em how to grow out of it so they don't turn out to be even bigger assholes when they get out in the real world. From the sound of things," he nodded his head towards the stairwell and glanced meaningfully up at the ceiling, where the three adults could occasionally hear muffled bumps and giggles from the kids playing somewhere above them, "big brother's learned his lesson, at least for the moment. I fully expect him to fuck up again, of course, though hopefully not as badly as last time. Just because I expect it doesn't mean he won't have to pay his dues."

"So Carl fires a shot at your people, aims at you, and you talk him down and make sure he can't do it again, and that's all you need to consider the matter dealt with?" Michonne asked, clearly with her own agenda in mind.

"Yep, problem solved."

She leaned forward and put her elbows on her knees, staring intently at Negan. "What would it take for to leave Alexandria alone? For you to consider the outpost 'done and dealt with'?"

Negan tipped his head, "Not a conversation I expected to be having this early on in our relationship."

_Me, either,_ Rick thought. _Come on, Michonne, we were going to ease our way into this._

Negan sat forward to match Michonne's stance, "I'm not quite sure you're ready for the big picture just yet. We're barely into what _might_ be our first smooth, uneventful visit. Just learning to crawl here, not even taking baby steps yet, and you want to take a giant-ass leap forward. I just don't know if that won't end up doing more harm than good."

_We're all in now, I guess._ Rick deliberately stayed in a relaxed position instead of matching the others' intensity, "We're not talking about sharing with the whole world here. Just between us. Just spit-balling ideas. What would it take from us for you and your community to feel satisfied that we've made amends for what we did?"

Rick didn't care as much about the actual answer as he did about the fact that Negan seemed to be seriously contemplating the question. _So there is a way out._ He made quick eye contact with Michonne to confirm that she was seeing it, too.

They had talked at length the past several nights, lying on the floor of their bedroom after it had been stripped of the mattress on the Saviors' first visit. The night the Saviors caught them and took control of Alexandria, Negan had made it seem as though there was no end to his rule over their family and friends, that they would be forever trapped under his thumb. If that was truly the case, then Abraham was probably right – their only choice was to fight back, and to take out as many of the Saviors as they could in one massive attack. Rick wasn't opposed to bloodshed if that's what it took to protect their family.

But he also saw the flip-side of a full-on assault. Not only would a lot of innocent people die at the Saviors' compound (and, from what they could get out of Aaron's first letter, there were many, including dozens of small children, who would inevitably be caught in the line of fire), but they would likely lose many more of their own. Negan was too well-fortified, well-armed, and well-prepared. They might be able to surprise the Saviors, but that advantage wouldn't hold out for long. From a strategic standpoint, Rick knew that fighting the Saviors head-on was likely to be a suicide mission for many of them. As a husband, father, and friend, Rick wasn't willing to watch his family die, especially needlessly. Because if Negan did have an endgame in mind, and his hesitation in responding indicated strongly that he did, then war might not be the only solution. If Negan were already prepared to come to the table with a resolution, even if his terms were completely unreasonable, it meant that negotiation was still an option. And while Michonne was still leaning a little more towards Abraham's way of thinking, Rick had persuaded her to at least be open-minded to seeing if peace was possible.

Negan seemed to come to a decision as he nodded to himself and then eased back in the armchair, "Alrighty, then, just us and the four walls here, no – "

"Hi, Mr. Negan!" Judith called out happily as she jumped down the stairs, thumping on the hardwood surface.

"Well, hello, Princess!" he was all smiles as he reached out to scoop the four-year-old onto his lap. Rick stared hard at Michonne, willing her to be calm, to at least pretend to be okay with this. He'd been here before and knew first-hand how gut-wrenching it had been to see the same hands that had casually wiped Eugene's blood from his clothes now brushing wavy strands of hair from Judith's face. It was a catch-22: reacting might tip Judith off that all was not right with the world, which may upset her and, by extension, the man holding her. On the other hand, it was almost impossible to see her so eagerly running into the arms of a monster. To Michonne's credit, her only outward sign of discomfort was a tightening of muscles and a slightly tense expression.

"I missed you," Negan gave Judith a quick kiss on the cheek, which she quickly returned with one of her own.

"Your face is scratchy." She wrinkled her nose.

He chuckled, "I'm terribly sorry. I promise to fix that for next time. What have you been up to this morning?

"We're playing hide and seek!"

"That sounds like tons of fun for a rainy day."

"Yeah, but it's always rainy all the time and I wanna play outside," she pouted. Negan started to reply but she jumped down and scurried away with a quick "I forgot!" tossed over her shoulder, barreling into Carl and Enid as she bounced back upstairs.

"To be continued," Negan murmured towards Rick and Michonne as he turned to fully face the teenagers with a knowing grin. "Hey, Big Brother. Looks like you got yourself a rainy day babysitting date." Carl visibly bristled but kept his mouth shut. "And I don't think we've met – you are…"

"Enid," she supplied, doing her best to hold steady eye contact before turning to Rick, "Sorry, she saw the trucks outside and then when she heard voices down here..."

"It's alright," Rick said kindly. "We're just getting out of the rain for a bit."

"Of course it's alright," Negan added with a slight edge to his voice before easing off, "Coming to the Alexandria Safe Zone wouldn't be complete without visiting this little angel," he added as Judith skipped back into the room with her stuffed elephant in hand and a colorful drawing in the other. "and Bethie, of course, we can't forget about Bethie. But what's this? Your Mom already gave me a picture you made for your Uncle Daryl."

"I made this for you!" she announced proudly.

"You did?" Negan took the paper from her outstretched hand and pulled her in for a sideways hug. "Well, thank you so much! Look at everything you've got going on here, you worked really hard on this, I can tell."

"That's me, and that's you," she pointed out different blob-shaped, multicolored figures scribbled on the page, "and that's Ms. 'livia, and that's Bethie and that's your Lucille."

"And that's our lemonade from last week," Negan finished for her, "which I was just thanking your Mom for making, because that was super-tasty. And this is a super-awesome picture. I can't wait to take it home and put it right smack in the middle of my fridge so I can see it every day."

"Yeah, 'cause, um, 'cause you said that, um, you said your little girl doesn't like to draw pictures, so I made you this one."

Negan leaned back with a clearly-impressed expression on his face, "Well, aren't you smart for remembering that! You are absolutely right, my big girl does not have nearly as much fun coloring as you do, so I love that I'm getting a pretty picture today."

"And she's four like me and her name is Jenna and it has a J just like me!"

"Well alright then, look at you and your amazing memory! That is something special," He leaned forward, "Since you're so smart, you wanna know a pretty awesome way to win at hide and seek? Come here, now, it's a secret." He whispered loudly in her ear so that everyone in the room heard, "What you do is, you hide Bethie in Bubba's closet, but you make her trunk sticks out under the door. That way, he'll see it and think you're hiding in there, too. But you really go hide in your room somewhere, and he won't know where to look for you. Got it?"

"Uh-huh!" she giggled.

"Alrighty, then, let's try it out and see how good you are."

"Okay, Bubba, you gotta count!"

Carl obediently started counting aloud as Judith raced up the stairs.

"And that," Negan stretched out in his seat, "is how you trick a four-year-old into leaving you alone, at least for a few minutes. You can stop counting now, 'Bubba', she's occupied for the time being. And I have a job for you and the little lady. Where might Glenn be right about now?"

"Why do you want him?" Enid jumped in before anyone else could respond.

Negan eyed her appraisingly, "Well aren't we Miss Protective. I wonder why that is."

Rick was gearing up to intervene if need be, but Enid held her own with only a slightly shuddering breath as any sign of nerves, "Glenn's my friend. Maggie, too."

"Well, then, Friend Enid, fetching Glenn for me ought to be the perfect errand for you and Cowboy Carl. See, I'm in a good mood this morning. I got myself a nice new piece of artwork, my people are getting some new tables and chairs, and Carl here is minding his manners. Didn't you ever have a dog when you were little? When you teach a dog a new trick, you gotta give it treats along the way. Even if it doesn't do the trick perfectly, you want to encourage it to keep on tryin'."

"We're not dogs," Carl couldn't resist.

"Aww, and we were doing so well," Negan grinned. "Dogs, bratty kids, same difference really. I don't mind that you've got the balls to stand up to me. I like it, actually. But you gotta fucking learn when and how to use it. Let's try again. Glenn would be…"

"At home," Carl ground out.

"Kid, come on, you can't possibly think I've got everyone's fucking addresses memorized just yet."

"Across the street and two doors down."

"Better! Grab yourselves an umbrella or whatever, and go fetch," he grinned.

He waited until they'd shut the door and he could no longer hear their footsteps on the front porch before turning back to address Rick and Michonne, "Back to what we were discussing earlier. A serious question deserves a serious answer. What you both need to under – "

Rick wanted to groan aloud when a knock at the door interrupted what might be the most important thing Negan ever said to them.

"What, did they fucking _fly_ over there?" Negan muttered as he picked up Lucille and crossed to the entrance with Rick and Michonne following close behind.

Instead of Carl and Enid, a drenched Daryl stood on the porch.

"Daryl! I'd invite you in, but damn, I don't think the Grimes family would forgive having to clean up after you. You done?"

Rick watched over Negan's shoulder as Daryl silently nodded, the slight movement shaking water drops from his hair.

"I get everything I asked for?"

Another nod, Daryl's eyes hidden from view by sopping wet hair and his hunched and closed-in stance.

"Any problems I should know about?"

Rick swallowed a sigh as Daryl gave one slightly shaky affirmative nod. Beside him, Michonne pursed her lips and frowned deeply as Negan made a _tsk_-ing sound and stepped out onto the porch

"Well, now, that is god-damned disappointing to think we can't even get through one fucking week without someone causing trouble." He tapped the barbed end of the bat rapidly on the wood planks, chipping flecks of paint. "Okay, then, let's have it." A brief pause, then, "Use your words, Daryl."

Rick risked a quick hand-hold with Michonne as Daryl's rough voice hardly registered over the pounding rain overhead, "Someone tried to talk to me. Ain't said nothin' back, though."

"Gonna need that name."

"Abraham Ford."

Negan stepped towards Daryl, giving Michonne and Rick enough room to join them out on the porch. "That'd be the 'roid-raging ginger I met during our little pow-wow on everyone's way to Hilltop, yes?"

Daryl gave another nod, but Rick's eyes were drawn to the three figures jogging in the rain towards them. Negan saw them too, and beckoned with two fingers for Carl, Enid, and Glenn to come up, the group now forming a lopsided circle with everyone's focus on Negan's interrogation.

"And what did our ginger friend say exactly?"

"Wanted to know how to get to the Sanctuary, how big it was, how it's guarded," Daryl was barely audible.

"And you didn't respond? Not one tiny nod, a quick wink? Tap out a little Morse-code memo?"

Daryl shook his head. Negan stepped up until he was toe-to-toe with his prisoner. "Eyes up." When Daryl complied, Rick watched with baited breath as Negan stared long and hard, searching for the lie. Rick stared too, at the dark bags under his brother's eyes and the slight tremor in his clenched fists.

After a tense moment, Negan nodded and stepped back, seemingly satisfied. "I appreciate your honesty." Daryl obediently dropped his head to stare at the porch floorboards once more.

"Mr. Rhee, I am really starting to wonder at the number of people in this town who seem downright determined to fuck you over. First it's Carl with his hissy-fit, now we've got Abraham sneaking around trying to break rules like I'm not going to fucking find out. Beginning to feel like a fucking conspiracy. Do people here hate you that much?" He sighed dramatically and tapped his fingers on Lucille's handle. "Lucky for you, despite Mr. Ford's stupidity, I am still in a good mood. After all, Daryl here is making big strides towards becoming a well-trained mutt, and that, at least, deserves a little treat, don't you think so, Carl?"

From where Rick was standing, there was no way for him to reach out, discreetly or otherwise, to keep Carl from flying off the handle, but Enid seemed to be thinking along the same lines, clutching the teen's hand with a white-knuckled grip.

Negan saw it and chuckled, "Oh, I can see it in your eyes, excuse me – eye – if your girlfriend wasn't holding you back right now, you'd be taking a swing at me, am I right? Or at least telling me to fuck off." He paused to see if Carl would react, but, to his credit, Carl just clenched his jaw tighter. Negan gave it a moment longer before acknowledging Carl's efforts at self-restraint with a nod. "Good boy."

He turned to Glenn, "I had a lovely visit with Miss Maggie, and you'll be pleased to know she's looking much better than the last time we saw her. Now, class," he asked in a sing-song voice, "did we do our homework?"

Glenn nodded, but Negan added, "Oh, come on now, if you want the gold star for the day, you're gonna have to show your work."

Glenn drew in a deep breath before he asked, "Did she lose the baby when the cysts burst?"

Negan tipped his head, "Keep going," he encouraged.

"Did… did the nutrient pack inside her come loose? Is the baby still getting what it needs to stay alive?"

"A little vague on the terminology there, Daddy-to-be, but I'll accept it. The _placenta_ was partially _dislodged_," he amended Glenn's description, "but you are still well on your way to becoming a first-time father. And her condition happens to provide all of us with a golden opportunity for a little trust-building." He turned to Rick and added meaningfully, "Baby steps, you might even call it."

He turned back to Glenn, "Last time we talked, I gave you the fucking worst-case shit scenario for seeing your wife again. Now, I want to swing things the opposite direction, and let's talk about the best possible way this could all play out. I strongly suspect that we're going to end up compromising somewhere between the two extremes, but I want you to know that this is the deal that's on the table, and how it unfolds is entirely up to you and yours. You do your part, and get everyone to stop with the dick moves every time we pop around for a visit, and everything'll come up aces for you. You interested?"

Glenn nodded to show he was paying attention.

"Good. And we've got the Grimes family and your self-proclaimed friend here as witnesses, so you know I can't go back on my word even if I were that kind of douchebag. Here's where we stand: if Maggie manages to carry the baby to term, she's set to deliver in four months. Now – "

"What, what?!" Glenn interrupted in shock.

"Yeah, Pops, oh? You didn't know how fucking far along she is?"

Glenn shook his head in a daze.

"That'd be because you people don't have shit to eat around here. Which, by the by, is another concern. My Doc's worried that even if the rest of the pregnancy goes according to plan, Maggie's half-starved self might not be able to nurse the little bundle of joy once it's out in the world. So, me _not_ bringing her back to your doorstep is actually in her best interest. And that brings us to today's deal. Due to an arrangement with a certain Dixon, I've agreed for Maggie to have everything she needs not only to have a safe and healthy rest of her pregnancy, but for her to have plenty to eat so that she can nurse the little bugger once it's born. And before you even open your mouths, no, you do _not_ get to know or even ask about what's been done to make that possible."

Rick couldn't help himself from looking to Daryl, standing off to himself on the edge of the porch. _Is this what made him surrender so completely on the road? Promise of medical care for Maggie and her baby?_ He could see that possibility. Negan had turned his attention to Maggie just after his private conversation with Daryl and had sent her away almost immediately afterward. But would that alone have been enough to satisfy Negan? Rick strongly suspected that Maggie's protection and care had cost his brother far more than a promise of subservience.

Negan continued, "Here's my deal for you. One year from today, Maggie gets to come back home. One year exactly, _if_ everyone continues to behave as they have been. And that little clause gives you some crucial gray area. We've had two runs here, now. First one got a little bumpy, missing guns and emotional outbursts and all that shit. This time around, Abraham's little fuck-up aside, you made a concerted effort to correct course, smooth things out. Now that's the kind of behavior I want to encourage. So, if you can get four consecutive weeks that you people manage to have a _completely_ uneventful contribution, I'll take a week off Maggie's time away. And each week after that, we'll take another week off. You play this right, get everyone on board, and you could have her home just a couple of months after that baby's born. And if that does happen, she'll come home with enough rations to keep her well-fed through the winter, because I promised to feed and care for her through next March. Now, that gray area does swing both ways. If someone fucks up, like Carl's little stunt last week, Abraham this week, anything along those lines, that homecoming clock gets set back to zero and we start at a full year all over again. But the ball's in your court on this one. As long as my people can do their jobs unharmed by yours, Maggie's safety is guaranteed. And if you people can get your shit behavior and attitudes together, you'll get her back that much faster."

Rick wasn't going to take chances this time. He stepped forward and reached out his hand to Negan, "Thank you." He made sure to hold Negan's gaze while shaking hands. "Carl, would you please get his hat and the picture off the coffee table?"

Thankfully, Carl obliged without comment. Negan took the proffered items, pulling the cap low on his brow and rolling Judith's gift around her other drawing.

"Does Daryl actually get to see those?" Michonne asked.

Negan smiled enigmatically, "I make sure they get where they need to go."

The group stayed on the porch watching silently until the Savior's convoy disappeared up the road and Alexandria's gates were secured.

"Finally," Jesus' voice startled them all as he poked his head out of the Grimes' now-open front door. "I thought they'd never leave."

* * *

**Again, there's more to come of Beth and Aaron, Beth and Daryl, Beth and Negan... (a lot of Beth coming up, now that I look at it!), so stay tuned, and please review!**


	11. Chapter 11

**I usually reply to questions in reviews directly to the person who wrote them, but since I can't do that with guest reviews…**

**A kind and concerned guest reader left this for me: "**I hope Rick and the others will choose not to go to war and make peace. It's what best for everyone. And Jesus/Hilltop better not do something to antagonize anybody to fight Negan. Could a war even happen with Eugene and Maggie out of commission? I just want a happy ending for my fav characters without bloodshed, is that too much to ask for?"

**And while I would never spoil my own story, I wanted to address the question. Of course, there can still be a war! **** But if it comes to that, our friends at Alexandria and Hilltop won't have the benefit of Maggie leading the charge or Eugene saving the day with magic bullets. But they do have Abraham, Glenn, and Tyrese, and Negan's got Beth who, as much as she loves her family is feeling a tad bit resentful for being abandoned so easily… All these changes and more that haven't yet been revealed (including a couple of crucial ones in the chapter you're about to read) would certainly make things interesting if it came down to a fight. Just a little food for thought :)**

* * *

Chapter 11: The Art of the Deal, Part II

Everyone else headed inside the Grimes house to get out of the rain, but Rick put his hand on Carl's shoulder to indicate they should hang back on the porch.

"I want to tell you how proud I am of what you did today," he began, looking at the young man his son was all-too-quickly becoming. "He was deliberately goading you, and you held back when holding back is the hardest thing to do. I know it isn't what you want. It's not what any of us want, but it is the way it has to be. So thank you, for being the bigger man today, for not stooping to Negan's level."

Carl nodded, and Rick could see the teen was doing his best to accept not just the praise, but the full message Rick was trying to convey. "How long, Dad? I know you said we have to accept this and I'm trying, but how long are we just going to sit back and watch him take our stuff, watch him treat Daryl and Glenn and everyone else like dirt? And Judy – how are we supposed to just let her act like he's part of the family after what he's done?"

_Not as long as I need you to believe,_ Rick wanted to say but knew he couldn't. Carl might have shown some decent self-restraint this morning, but Rick knew how impulsive his son could be. Still, he could afford to give him a little hope, right? "Negan said some things, while you were still upstairs, things that make me think that maybe this doesn't have to be forever. And I want to tell you, want us to talk it out with Michonne as a family. But right now, I need you to stay with your sister while I talk with Jesus."

"Dad – " Rick cut off the protest.

"I know, you feel you ought to hear whatever he has to say, but right now, there are things going on with Hilltop that I haven't filled you in on, and it would take too long to get you caught up. I don't know how long Jesus can stay, so I need to hear him out now. Tonight, I promise, after we get Judy to bed, you and me and Michonne will sit down together and I'll tell you what happened at Hilltop last week, what Jesus says today, what we learned from Negan this morning. I'll answer your questions and I'll hear you out on your ideas, too. But right now, I need you and Enid to keep Judy and Luke and maybe a couple of the other kids occupied so that Jesus can share what he knows and get back to Hilltop safely."

Carl sighed and leveled a stare at his father, "You promise? Tonight, you'll tell me everything?"

The fleeting image of crossing his fingers behind his back in a childish gesture of promise-breaking flashed in Rick's mind. "I promise, tonight, we'll talk as a family and tell you what we know," _or at least what we think you can handle and what won't likely get people killed if you blow it the next time Negan comes around_,he silently amended. "But first I need you to mind your sister while I talk with Jesus and deal with Abraham. You understand that what he did today was wrong, don't you? Just because it might have helped us, and I know that's what he wanted to do, doesn't mean it was what needed doing. It was reckless and could've gotten a lot of people hurt or worse."

"Not if Daryl hadn't told on him. Why would he do that, Dad? Why would he help _them_?"

"Maybe Daryl knew he was being watched," Rick posited, "Maybe he knew that Abraham had already been found out and, by playing along with what Negan wanted, he could buy a little good will. Maybe it's part of whatever deal he made to keep Maggie safe and looked after. Maybe he knows there's something else at play that we can't see." Rick put both hands on Carl's shoulders and squeezed reassuringly, "Of everyone else here, you and I have known Daryl the longest. You think back on all the things we've been through together, of all the things he's done and given up to protect our family. No matter what we're seeing or what we might see in the future, _we know Daryl_. We know how strong he is and we know how much he'd do to keep the people he cares about safe."

Carl nodded as he took in Rick's words, but then looked at his father with worry, "But that also means he's getting hurt the most. Daryl's looking after us, but who's looking out for him? Negan's gonna keep trying to break him down no matter what it takes."

"That's why we have to do everything we can on our end to get him back. Even if it means doing things we'd rather not, things we never thought we'd do."

"Be the bigger man," Carl concluded with a grimace.

Rick matched his son's expression, "Exactly."

"Okay. For Daryl. I'll keep trying."

Rick pulled his son in for a quick hug, "Me, too."

* * *

Aaron pulled the last stretcher through the muddy slop that the Sanctuary's main courtyard had become with a satisfied smile. Finally, after more than a week of nothing but bleak skies and unending downpours, there was a small break in the clouds and warm afternoon sunshine glowed on everyone's faces. Jeffery and Aaron had quickly agreed that the respite from the dismal weather was too good an opportunity to pass up and had set about arranging their eight patients in the collection of wheelchairs and rolling beds so that everyone could enjoy a bit of blue sky in between the storm clouds.

Everyone else seemed to have similar notions – an impromptu security team had been pulled together to keep watch as the entire school headed out to play in the muddy fields outside the Sanctuary fencing.

"I feel sorry for whoever has laundry duty tomorrow," Sherry approached the group of elderly from the factory's main entrance. "Over a hundred sets of kids' clothes caked with mud, count me out."

Aaron smiled at the approaching group of Negan's wives. With no regular work detail, the women had more free time to roam about the Sanctuary and, with Aaron being the newest and most interesting topic of local gossip, he found himself frequently engaging with one or more of them as they made excuses to visit the infirmary's assisted living room.

Of Negan's several wives, Aaron had gotten to know some better than others. Savannah, who had been a nurse in the old days and spent more afternoons than not in the hospital wing, was the one Aaron knew best. While other wives had come and gone, she, along with Claire, were the ones who had stayed married to Negan the longest. Tall, brown-skinned, and boasting a well-toned while still curvy figure, she kept her hair cropped close to her scalp, but, rather than keeping it a uniform length, she'd found a friend who was skilled at shaving different designs and patterns every time she had it re-done. And while she was always pleasant, both her appearance and her no-nonsense attitude made for a formidable presence that was often helpful when some of their feistier patients tried to slip down the hall or didn't want to give up their independence even when it was in their best interests.

"Forget the clothes," Savannah said as she set down a chair for Trish to use as she nursed her infant, "I'm already imagining how much 'fun' it's going to be wrestling my boys into a bath after they've chased each other around in that muck."

"Just try to think of whatever Carter and Mason splash on you as a mud facial," Trish suggested as she shifted her shirt aside for her daughter. It had taken Aaron a few days to adjust to the fact that Trish was perfectly comfortable with breastfeeding without any kind of blanket or other modest covering ('What, haven't you ever seen a baby sucking on a tit before?'). She'd run a daycare and had spent most of her adult life being surrounded by children, but the baby in her arms was her first and, given her age, probably only child, and she made no apologies about her pride at finally getting to be a mother.

"Oh, remember spa days," Claire happily reminisced. Most of the women in the loosely-clustered circle made murmurs of agreement, with only Janet (a shy and socially awkward brunette that Aaron had only met once before) quietly noting, "I never did go to one."

"Me, either," he replied, hoping to build some kind of connection. Not only did befriending the women who were closest to Negan seem like a good way to both prove to the Saviors' leader that he was complying with his wishes for Aaron's role as some kind of good-will ambassador between their communities, but it also provided Aaron with unique insights into the Saviors' way of life and, perhaps, their true intentions for Alexandria and any other communities they might have taken over.

But his efforts so far had mixed results. The women easiest to get to know were the most out-going of the bunch. But Aaron was far more interested in the ones who seemed meek and hesitant. It still freaked him out, the idea that these women might have been forced into some kind of old-world harem, that anyone here was being coerced, manipulated, or blackmailed into relationships and bearing children against their will. And while the stronger personalities among Negan's wives seemed capable of holding their own, Aaron still couldn't be entirely sure that they had even footing, much less the upper hand, when it came to Negan himself. And the quieter women? The woman with long blonde hair, Amber, who Aaron had seen sitting so forlorn at lunch on the day he'd learned about the community's unspoken expectation of contributing to the future – Aaron had yet to speak to her at all, but he frequently saw her taking aimless walks by herself around the courtyard. And Janet almost seemed to curl in on herself if she noticed too many people even looking in her direction, never raised her voice above a quiet hum and frequently stuttered. These were the ones Aaron wanted to hear from the most. Because if Negan's rules were his way of disguising the worst kind of… Aaron couldn't even put a word to it. But it was something he could never forgive himself for being part of, even passively. And what's more, if things here were as bad has he'd originally imagined, there was nothing to stop Negan from doing the same at Alexandria. He'd dropped one hint in his first letter home, but before saying anything more, he wanted to know exactly what they were all up against. How could he look Eric or Luke in the eyes again if he gained his freedom by turning his back on people in a far worse situation than his own or bringing the same home with him?

"What? I thought all gay men loved to look good," Savannah teased with a grin.

Aaron laughed along with the others, knowing she didn't mean anything by the stereotype, "Sorry to disappoint. Now Eric, he does miss adding to his shoe collection." By now, she and several others were well-acquainted with descriptions of Aaron's boyfriend and son.

"Lord, honey, yes! I cannot wait until my ankles go back to their regular size so I can wear my cute shoes again!" Trish declared as she shifted the baby to her shoulder to burp.

"Y'all are ridiculous, wobbling around on those horrible stiletto heels. Give me a good pair of boots any day," Claire declared confidently.

"You can't show off cute toes with boots on," Trish argued.

"If I worry about showing off my pedicure, I'll end up breaking both my ankles and y'all will be the ones chasing after Joe Jr., Jenna, and Emma for me."

"Wear the boots." The other three women chorused nearly simultaneously.

"They can't be that bad," Aaron tried to defend, but even Claire waived him off.

"Yes, they can. You don't know, you've only got one. Something gets spilled or broken, you know who's done it. And no one's picking on him or taking his favorite toy that he wasn't even playing with. Two are trouble enough, but three? Don't know what the hell I was thinking. If they're not teamed up against me, they're all pitted against each other. 'He touched me!', 'she crossed her eyes at me!', 'I wanted to sit there!'… Look, you see how all the other kids are stepping carefully through the mud or gently splashing in the puddles, and then there's those two literally rolling in the mud and the third one tossing mud balls at them? I don't even have to get up close to check, I know they're mine." She shook her head before resting her chin in the palm of one hand propped at the elbow on the edge of Trish's chair.

"Well, I'm sure Negan will help get them cleaned up whenever the convoy gets back from Alexandria," Aaron hoped the comment would steer conversation back to the man he wanted to know more about.

"Are they still not back?" Molly, who was by far the most eccentric of Negan's wives, at least in Aaron's mind, walked up to the group. Today, her black hair was in pigtails and, despite the chilly dampness in the air, was sporting a matching white halter-top and mini skirt with black ballet shoes whose red ribbons were laced intricately up her pale calves. "They need to hurry up, I'm horny as fuck."

"And thank you so much for sharing, _Jesus_!" Savannah rolled her eyes.

Molly's marriage proposal to Negan was the stuff of legend in the Sanctuary. It was one of the first pieces of gossip that Aaron had heard once people had gotten comfortable enough to talk to him. Less than two weeks after her group had been found and brought in by the Saviors, she had marched right up to Negan in the middle of the factory floor and, in front of everyone, declared, "I love sex and I hear you do, too. I like it fun and a little dangerous, and if you're down for that, we should hook up."

Negan, not missing a beat, had given her his trademark grin as he explained, "I don't cheat on my wives."

"So, if we're going to fuck, I have to marry you?"

"Yep."

"Do we have to have a ceremony or some cutesy shit?"

"Nope."

"I think falling in love is stupid. I'm not going to fall in love with you."

"I'm not going to fall in love with you, either. But if you marry me, I will happily fuck you anytime you want."

Molly had smirked and stuck her hand out for a firm handshake, "Deal." And the rest was history.

"What, like you can talk, you stole him this morning."

"I don't know what kind of time you think you're going to get with him. You know he always has dinner with Janet before town hall. And I didn't _steal_ anything. If anything, he got stolen from me. We were making out in the greenhouse this morning when Dwight had to go interrupting with some stupid problem with Daryl Dixon."

The sound of trucks coming up the gravel road to the Sanctuary briefly stopped their conversation, but Aaron very much hoped they'd get back to it as soon as the excitement settled down. As much as he wanted to learn more about Negan, if something had happened to Daryl, that took priority.

"I d-don't mind," Janet quietly murmured to Molly, barely able to make eye contact as she blushed fiercely, "if, if you want some time with N-Negan, I mean."

"Bless you," she gushed in return, "And don't worry, he'll still make it to your weekly dinner date. The way I'm feeling, this will _not_ take long!" And she practically skipped over to the garage.

"Would it kill her to have just a tiny shred of modesty," Trish grumbled as she gently patted her baby's back.

"I doubt she's ever heard of the concept," was Sherry's dry response. "What happened this morning with Daryl?"

_Yes, thank you Sherry,_ Aaron tried to blend into the background in case his being an outsider, both to their group and to the Sanctuary, made Savannah uneasy about sharing. He needn't have worried, though, as the women seemed to accept his as one of their own and Savannah quickly relayed what she'd seen earlier that morning when Dwight caught Daryl and Tim talking outside the fence.

"Wait, first we're letting him out of his cell every day and now he's not even going to be guarded?" Trish pulled her daughter closer, "What's to stop him from attacking us right here in our own home?"

"Well, it's not like he's armed," Sherry countered. "And Negan must think its safe enough. Besides, isn't he married to Doc? He can't be all bad, no way Beth would be with him for all those years."

"I don't care what he thinks, look at him," Savannah gestured to where Daryl was hauling furniture from the garage to the main factory. "If he's strong enough to carry a full-sized table by himself, there's no telling what kind of damage he could do before someone gunned him down. And at least two years apart is plenty long enough for a person to change. Doc's husband or not, he's from Alexandria. We all know what they did."

"So am I," Aaron risked intruding on their conversation. As one, they all turned to stare at him. "I'm from Alexandria, too, remember? I've never even been locked up once since I came here, and none of you seem worried about me."

"Well, you're different," Claire dismissed. "I mean, you're…" she gestured helplessly up and down his frame, "and he's…" she made a disgusted face as she spied Daryl.

"So, if we switched outfits, I'd be the one you were afraid of? Is this a 'clothes make the man' kind of thing?" Aaron tried to keep things light, very well aware that his next few minutes could be a make-or-break moment for not just Daryl but the rest of their friends back home.

"It's more than that," Trish argued. "He… well, you can just tell some people are dangerous."

Aaron nodded, "Daryl's not going to win Mr. Congeniality, I'll give you that. But he's…" Aaron sighed, trying to think of how he could phrase this without betraying Daryl's confidence and without fully knowing the situation between him and Beth, especially since Daryl had never mentioned children before, "I didn't meet Daryl until after he'd lost Beth and thought he'd never find her again. But everyone who did know him well before that has said that losing her changed him and he's never been the same since. Yeah, he's a bit rough around the edges, but I wish you could see him with my son, or with his niece, or any of the kids, really." Aaron chuckled softly, "He'd probably never forgive me if he heard me say this, but, whenever the kids see him, it's kinda like a mama duck, you know, with all the little ducklings trailing after…" Aaron smiled as a couple of the women giggled at the unlikely image. "They all just love him, and he's amazing with them. You know, I wouldn't have my son if it weren't for Daryl Dixon."

At the couple of skeptical looks, he continued, "It's true. Luke lost his birth parents when another group attacked Daryl and Beth's community in Georgia. Their whole group lost everything, it's what made them come this way. When they got to Alexandria, Luke was pretty traumatized, but he'd at least go through the motions, eat, play a little, if Daryl was with him. Everyone was trying to decide who would be the best people to take him in, Daryl was the one who suggested Eric and I be the ones to adopt him. Hadn't even crossed our minds, having kids, especially with things the way they are. But Daryl fought for it, kept pushing until everyone else in Alexandria finally gave in. I know to everyone here he seems scary and dangerous, but Daryl's a good man and my friend. Until we came here, his bedroom was across the hall from my child's and I never doubted that my boy was the safest kid in all Alexandria because of it. I just… I hope he gets the chance to prove himself the way I have."

* * *

Rick noted Abraham's absence from their usual circle but couldn't be bothered to deal with it at the moment. The brief let-up in the rain had been the perfect excuse to get the kids outside and out of the way so Jesus could meet with them in relative peace.

In deference to Eric's neat-freak personality, they were crowded around the Raleigh's small kitchen table to avoid tracking water and mud on the living room carpet.

"I think I owe you guys an apology," Jesus began. "I just don't know how big that apology ought to be yet." He turned directly to Rick, "When we met, and I said that our communities should come together, that we could help each other, I was sincere. I believed everything that I told you and that Gregory later on told you was true."

"What are you saying? Was it all lies, then? Negan taking over, killing someone for show, the weekly runs taking half your food? Did we attack the Saviors for no reason?" Sasha asked in disbelief.

"No, that's not what I'm saying exactly," Jesus put up his hands in an unconscious gesture of both surrender and defense, "All those things are real. I didn't lie, I just didn't think to…" Rick could see his visible frustration as he searched for the right words, "It never occurred to me to question, to ask how or why. I just assumed that it, that Negan and the Saviors came out of nowhere, that it was completely unexpected. Look, everything I said is still true. It just isn't… everything."

"Maybe if you start at the beginning," Tyrese suggested, "We can try and make a little more sense of what you're trying to tell us."

Jesus nodded and settled back in his seat while everyone else listened attentively. "It's been not quite two years since I first found Hilltop. And when I got there, Negan had already been in control for well over a year. When I first came in the gates, Gregory invited me into his office, welcomed me in, said he hoped I would stay, that they could really use someone like me, someone who knew their way around in the world, knew how to survive. And then he warned me, said he wouldn't feel right encouraging me to make Hilltop my home without me knowing what all I would be facing. Gregory told me about Negan and the Saviors, how they had come one night and surrounded their whole community, forced everyone on their knees. How he had bargained with Negan for a private audience, came up with a diplomatic solution. How, when they were done and Gregory thought he'd succeeded in protecting everyone, Negan had pulled a man at random and beaten him to death in front of them all to show what would happen if they didn't hold up their end of the bargain. And that was the last that anyone at Hilltop actually saw of Negan, but Simon and his crew came every week like clockwork for Hilltop's contribution. That's why I couldn't give you more than a general description of the man, white guy, black hair, average height, leather jacket and a red scarf."

"Right, that's why we thought we'd got him at the satellite station. White guy, black hair, had that red bandana over his face from the smoke. No leather jacket but he had just been forced out of bed by our firebombs," Sasha reasoned.

"Didn't hurt that he stepped right up to us and called himself Negan, either," Rosita quipped.

"We should have realized it was too easy," Rick mused regretfully, "They were surrounded, nowhere to go, and there we were telling them what we wanted and basically announcing that we didn't really know who we were looking for. Turned around, any of us would have tried to do the same, protect the others, give them a chance to get out alive and warn folks back home. It worked."

"Because you were working from a basic description of a man seen one time, at night, with everyone's fear and adrenaline racing through them," Jesus said. "Except, that's the part that's not exactly the whole story. Turns out, that _was_ Negan's last visit to Hilltop, but it wasn't his _first_."

Jesus took a deep breath before he continued, "After you left last week, I started digging around, making casual conversation with as many different people as I could. From what I can tell, what Gregory described to me my first day at Hilltop is what everyone else who was there remembers happening, too. And anyone who came to the community after that night believes the same thing I did, that the Saviors just showed up and took over. And when you see Simon and his crew armed to the teeth and taking the best part of our crops every week… Like I said, it never occurred to me to ask what Hilltop might have done to provoke it. And I still don't know what exactly happened, but I do know this: before that night, the Saviors and Hilltop were partners, almost from the start. The Saviors helped reinforce the walls around the whole community; they helped build the watchtower. And the original deal between them was that, as long as the Saviors kept the dead away from Hilltop, they were entitled to a quarter of whatever Hilltop grew. And for more than two years, both communities got along peacefully. Most of the original founders of Hilltop have never even killed a walker, the Saviors took care of all that. And once a month, they'd send in a small group with a single truck to collect their share of the crops."

"That's… actually fair," Olivia concluded. "And pretty reasonable. What went wrong?"

Jesus shook his head, "It gets a bit fuzzy from there. Best I can piece together from different accounts, there was some kind of massive fever or flu, almost everyone got sick. And while they had a lot of medicine stored up, the Carson brothers hadn't come to Hilltop yet. Several people died from whatever it was, no one was healthy enough to tend the gardens. Some people said they remembered the Saviors coming in at one point to help, others said that the Saviors came asking for help with some kind of problem of their own… I couldn't get a solid answer one way or the other. But most agreed that, about the time that the worst was past and people were starting to recover is when the Saviors attacked. And nobody knows exactly what happened when Negan and Gregory were alone in that office, but when they came out, Negan killed the one man and told Gregory in front of the whole community that, if he ever changed his mind, he knew what to do. Which fits with what I overheard when Negan had his conversation with Gregory over the radio."

Rick's mind was racing as Jesus relayed a summary of what Negan had said to Hilltop's leader, but Michonne jumped in before he could voice his own conclusions, "Let me make sure I'm hearing this right. Gregory deliberately deceived us about the size of Negan's forces, the nature of their prior relationship, and, after he got caught, _by Negan_, for setting us up to fail, he's still trying to weasel his way out by not supplying us with the food that Negan himself flat-out told him to give."

"I'd say that about sums it up, yes," Jesus confirmed.

"Are we fighting the wrong enemy here?" Sasha questioned.

Rosita shook her head, "No, hold up, now, wait a goddamned minute. Just because Gregory's a lying sack of shit doesn't mean Negan's suddenly a candidate for sainthood. I mean, you're talking about people getting sick, so sick that some of them are _literally dying_ and, what, the gardens didn't get watered for a few weeks? Got a few too many weeds? Some vegetables rotted on the vine and Negan's response is to bash a man's brains out and double Hilltop's quota. He's not off the hook, not by a long-shot."

"And don't forget Aaron's warning," Eric added. For Jesus' benefit he explained, "Aaron's able to write weekly letters to Luke and I, and, in the very first one, he slipped in a coded message about Negan being more dangerous than we already knew. He couldn't spell it out, but something is going on in that compound that is seriously wrong, we don't know quite what, but Negan's doing something to his own people that is very much _not_ okay."

Rick stepped in, "I think we can all agree that things are a lot more complicated than we realized. And until we know more, I don't think we should be rushing into anything. Let's not make the same mistakes again. Negan gave us a more detailed update on Maggie and, more importantly, a definitive timeline for getting her and the baby back here. Daryl's worked out some kind of deal that guarantees her safety while we prove ourselves trustworthy. And until we have a more concrete picture of what's really going on, we shouldn't jeopardize whatever deal he's made for taking care of her."

"What's it costing Daryl?" Jesus asked, clearly concerned.

"I don't know," Rick admitted. "From what I saw between last week and today, more than any one person ought to bear. Which is why I want us to have options. And to do that, we need to find a couple of places. Specifically, Negan's main compound and where they're keeping Maggie."

"I may be able to help you with Maggie," Jesus revealed. "It's just a chance, mind you. A lot of time has passed and I'm not even sure I'm on the right track here. But last week, you said something about Towers."

Glenn nodded, "When they took Maggie, Negan ordered his men to 'take her to Towers'. That's it, that's exactly what he said."

Jesus nodded, "You know I like to wander, not much for staying in one place for too long. This was back in the first year of the dead rising, I found this group. Actually, they found me, would be more accurate. I'd injured my leg and these people helped me, brought me to their community, where they had a doctor. Middle-aged woman, late fifties, early sixties at the most. Multiracial, European but also some Asian heritage, Japanese, maybe? Anyway, her name was Constance Towers. Given Maggie's condition…"

Sasha shook her head, "All this time, we've been thinking of places. 'Take her to Towers' – take her to the doctor."

Tyrese gave a brief, breath-filled chuckle before observing, "Tells us something about the man." Faced with multiple quizzical expressions, he elaborated, "He could have killed Maggie for what Daryl did, throwing that punch. He didn't. He could have just let her die. He didn't. He got her the medical care she needed and still got his revenge, stringing us along with all this worry. Psychological torture, not physical, that's his game."

"Oh, he does love the mind-games," Rick agreed. "But you didn't see Daryl up close today. There's nothing psychological about what's being done to him, or at least not only that. Jesus, do you think you could find this place again?"

"Finding it isn't the problem, I've been there several times. The problem is that, the last time I was there was after I'd come across Hilltop and, when I mentioned them to the people at this place, I was very quickly shown to the gates and told that neither I nor any of 'my kind' were welcome there ever again."

"So, either this place with its Dr. Towers is actually a Savior outpost of some kind, or Gregory's pissed off more communities than just us and Negan's people," Rosita surmised.

"I never heard any mention of Negan or Saviors on any of my visits there," Jesus said, "But, if this is where he sent Maggie, then there's obviously some kind of prior agreement in place."

"But that doesn't mean that Gregory hasn't also done something to piss them off. The two ideas aren't mutually exclusive," Michonne added. "What are we going to do about him?"

Rick replied, "I don't know that there's much we can do at the moment. We still don't have all the facts and, even if we did, I doubt strong-arming Gregory out of his position at Hilltop will score any brownie points with Negan, not when we're supposed to be proving how non-violent and submissive we can be."

"Gregory's duplicity might actually be my ticket back inside the Kingdom," Jesus mused aloud.

"The Kingdom?" Rosita sneered. "The hell's with these people?"

Jesus smiled, "They are a bit eccentric, but basically peaceful. Sometimes we all need something bigger than ourselves to hold onto as a way of coping with the world around us. The point is, I could go to them and say I've had my eyes opened, seen the truth about Hilltop. If I can get in, I can look for Maggie. And maybe they know something about Hilltop and the Saviors' mutual past, might give us a little more insight."

"Downside, they might not let you out again. Or worse, turn you over to Negan," Sasha warned.

"I don't think they'd go so far as to deliver me to him. I'm not breaking any rules that I'm aware of, except for Gregory's claim that I need to report all my travels to him, but we already know that's not coming from Negan. But, hey, if they do… you did say you wanted to find the Sanctuary."

"About that, if the people who started Hilltop used to be friends with Negan's people, wouldn't some of them know where it is already?" Olivia posited.

"If they do, they've clearly decided not to say," Michonne pointed out, "Or we'd have gone there instead of the satellite station. Or at least considered the possibility. But I'm betting no one there actually does know where this Sanctuary is. Jesus said it, Hilltop stayed behind its walls and did the farming. The Saviors were the only ones out on the roads; they came to Hilltop, not the other way around. But there may be something we can work with. Negan made himself at home in our living room today and dropped a clue about the Sanctuary that may narrow down some possibilities."

Rick took over, "We're not sure if it just slipped out accidentally or if he is deliberately baiting us, but does anyone here know much about geothermal power?"

Eric raised his hand and waved it a bit, "Hello? Former environmental lobbyist on Capitol Hill, remember? Anything to make the earth a little greener, we were all about it. Did Negan actually say that his compound runs on it, or just mention it as some kind of casual reference to sustainable energy?"

Michonne confirmed, "He specifically said his place runs on geothermal, even has a team of engineers and builders who know how to maintain it. He was poking fun at our solar panels, given that the battery cells have all drained out with this shit weather we've been having."

Eric smiled, "Then that might be the best news I've heard in a long time. Geothermal is what it sounds like, you're tapping into heat from deep in the earth's surface as your power source, which makes it pretty much guaranteed to never go out. As long as they've got the tools and know-how to maintain the pipelines, it's a safe bet that this Sanctuary of theirs will still have power after our great-grandchildren are gone from old age."

"And how, exactly, is that a good thing for us?" Tyrese asked with noted skepticism.

If anything, Eric's grin grew, "As a sustainable energy source, geothermal's amazing. But as the old saying goes, 'if it were easy, everyone would do it'. You can't just pick any old spot, drill into the ground, and magically have the earth's core power your A/C unit. The best places to drill for this kind of power set-up were far away from major water sources, and since most cities were historically settled near rivers and lakes, geothermal just wasn't practical for existing towns, or pretty much anywhere on the eastern seaboard. West of the Mississippi had more promising sites, but you'd still pretty much have to start in a place that hadn't yet been settled and build the community around the geothermal plant. In Virginia and Maryland, there were, off the top of my head, an absolute maximum of 20 sites that had even gotten some part of it started. Actually running, you're probably looking at more like 10 or 12. Each one took years of planning and multiple geological surveys. All of which were public record. All of which my firm had copies of and mapped out the locations for research purposes. And all those records and maps are in boxes neatly labeled and stored in the attic."

"Are you saying that a map to Negan's compound is in this house right now?" Glenn was near hyperventilating with excited energy.

Eric nodded, "If Negan's community is truly running on geothermal power, then it's marked on a map that is _literally_ right over our heads."

* * *

It couldn't last, of course. The clouds had already concealed the sun's warm rays and the teachers and security team were ushering the children towards the greenhouses so they could hose off the worst of the mud on their clothes and shoes before taking them back indoors. Given the sheer number of kids, Aaron could see this was going to take a while, and several of Negan's wives used the opportunity to excuse themselves to go help, at least with their own children. Claire was the only one who stayed behind, lounging in the chair recently vacated by Trish and her infant.

"You want help getting your crew back inside the hospital wing?" she offered, glancing over to the group who were mostly napping several feet away.

"I think we can safely enjoy the fresh air for a few more minutes. It's a lot easier to wheel them in than it is to get all those kids cleaned off."

Claire laughed, "I know, look at them - it's like herding cats!"

Aaron bit his lower lip before deciding to risk it, "Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"

"Nah, shoot. What do you want to know?"

"Your son's name, Joe Jr. Does that mean Negan's real name is…"

Claire's laugh came from deep in her gut, "Oh, that would just be awful for him, wouldn't it? I mean, 'Negan' – it's got a real something to it, right? A little flair, panache. And then to have his first name be so… pedestrian. But no, Joe Jr. is named after his biological father, my first husband." On mentioning him, her smile faded and she twisted a strand of her waist-long hair around her fingers wistfully.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry into something painful," Aaron genuinely apologized, even though he was secretly hoping she'd share a bit more.

"It's fine, don't worry about it. Joey, my husband, we always knew deep down we wouldn't grow old together. He'd had cancer, Hodgkins Lymphoma, as a teenager. Beat it, but it came back when we were dating. Beat it again. But it took its toll. He was always struggling with the after-effects of the illness and the crap he had to go through to get rid of it. And then, the Christmas before everything," she waved her free hand around, "he started having trouble breathing, chest pains. It came back, but different this time. One tumor, just the one, but it was massive, growing between his heart and lungs. Not just between them, but actually growing into them. The surgeon took what he could, but if he'd cut out everything, it would have killed Joey right there on the operating table – too much of it had worked its way into both lungs and two chambers of his heart. No one with his medical record was going to get on any kind of transplant list. Chemo and radiation at the same time, daily rounds for more than a month, hoping to shrink the rest down so his body could replace the tumor with good heart and lung tissue again. That was also about the time we found out we were pregnant. And it was also how I first met Negan."

Aaron looked at Claire with obvious surprise, which got her chuckling again, "I know right, small world. We didn't actually meet, _per se_, just saw each other in passing. I was there with my husband, he was there with his wife. Lucille. The _real_ Lucille. Shit, I think I'm the only one here who actually knew any of that, and now I've gone… look, don't go sharing this with anyone, alright? Please?"

Aaron shook his head, "Of course not. It's not my place and even if it were, gossip's not my thing."

"I've noticed that about you. You listen, but you never really comment. Except that bit about Daryl Dixon earlier. Anyway," she shifted in her seat, and back into her memory, "months passed, so did my Joey. Everything went crazy, everyone ran wherever they thought would be safest. If you found people who weren't sick, you made a group. This one day, sun's going down, and the little group of strangers I was in came across this weird semi-circle of vehicles all bunched up bumper-to-bumper. Couple of school buses, mini-vans, a tow truck, crazy-looking mix. And on the other side of that wall was a bigger group, sixty, maybe seventy people. And Negan at the center of it. He looked just as surprised to see a familiar face as I was. Over the next few days, we get to talking, actually introducing ourselves after weeks of seeing each other from across the chemo clinic. I had a pretty decent baby bump going on by this point. And I was a mess, emotionally. Just lost my husband, alone in the world and the world couldn't even give me the goddamned courtesy of staying normal while I was losing my mind. Then one night, we're sharing an open sleeping bag a little ways away from the campfire. He points to the rest of the group and says that the people who keep expecting things to go back to the way it was, they weren't going to make it. The ones who understood that the old world was done and those of us who weren't dead were going to have to build the new one from scratch, those were the people we could save. And then he tells me that he and Lucille had always wanted kids but it had never worked out. And, if I wanted, he'd help me raise my baby. No expectations of some great romance. Said he figured we'd both already had the loves of our lives and that wasn't something we'd ever likely have again. But that didn't mean we had to go through the rest of whatever this was alone. And I had been, Aaron. So very alone for so long. At that point, I honestly figured I wouldn't survive giving birth and told Negan as much. He scoffed, waved it off, 'of course you will, we'll figure it out'. _We._ 'We' felt really good. 'We' felt like coming up for air after being held underwater by one too many waves crashing over you. I said yes. One condition, boy or girl, I wanted to name the baby after Joey. He put his hand on my belly and smiled, 'of course we will'. We've been 'we' ever since."

"You ever regret it?" Aaron asked softly.

"Nope. If I could go back and do it all over again, I would still say yes. He's a great dad to all three of my little demon children," she grinned, "And I've had romance. And it was amazing and wonderful and I wouldn't change any of that, either. But what I want now is… stable. Comfortable."

"And the, ah, the others? That doesn't bother you at all?"

"What, like, do I get jealous? Why would I? They're a bonus as far as I'm concerned. Look, I'm not in love with the guy and I never will be. All I want is someone I can laugh with, who loves my children as much as I do and who makes sure we all have enough to eat and a safe place to sleep. Negan gives me all that. Negan loves sex. I enjoy it as much as the next healthy person but I'm not Molly the Nymphomaniac. So when he's getting on my nerves begging for something I don't feel like putting out, I have the perfect excuse. All I have to do is say, 'honey, I'm not sure you've been spending enough time with – fill in the blank with whichever name I want – don't you think you ought to do something special for her?' He gets to scratch an itch, I get my peace and quiet and a good father for my little ones. Everybody wins."

"Alright, so tell me this, then. Because I look around and I don't see anyone else with a marriage quite like yours. If a woman wanted to, could she have multiple husbands?"

Claire grinned, "I get what you're asking, and, technically, the answer is yes. But what you're describing will never happen. Not because it's against the rules. But because after half a century and an apocalypse, that old 'Mary Poppins' song is still true. Individually, you boys can be pretty freakin' adorable. You more than most – when you talk to me, you look at my eyes instead of my chest. But collectively, honey, men are stupid. And no sane woman is going to put up with a house full of them by choice. Hell, most of us can't stand just the one unless it's in small doses and after we've trained him up a bit."

Aaron figured he'd pushed the limits of this conversation about as far as it would go, so he nodded and stood up, preparing to get back to work as he added his two cents, "Speaking as one who has dated a fair number of men and both had to train and be trained by my boyfriend… you're not wrong, there."

* * *

**Beth and Daryl are next – they deserve to be the stars of the chapter after being kept apart for so long. I love hearing from all of you – please review!**


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12: The Art of the Deal, Part III

Something was wrong with Beth. Even with her back to him, Daryl could tell that much. Not physically, or at least he didn't think she was injured. He watched for that with every visit, couldn't help himself. Ever since he first laid eyes on the twin scars etched across her face… no, if he were being honest with himself, he'd been tracking her health since he pulled her away from the prison. It's just that now, he was more intense about it, in part from all the time she'd been gone from his world and in part from the grim knowledge that, if someone here did put their hands on her, there really wasn't a damned thing he could do about it.

Tonight was technically only the tenth day he'd been able to see and speak to Beth since losing her back in Georgia, but they had wordlessly fallen back into an easy rhythm as if no time had passed at all. The scenery was different, and the motions themselves, but the fluidity, the level of comfort were the same. The rain that he'd sworn had never bothered him before had quickly become problematic. After all, before Negan, he'd never had to stay in the same ill-fitting, foul-smelling, soaking-wet clothes for days on end. In a concrete box with no air flow, nothing dried out. There was no way to hang the drenched sweats, and even laying them out on the floor did little – the water had nowhere to go. And it turned out that human skin did not do well when it stayed wet. Beth had noticed his skin rubbed raw, first chafing, then sloughing off thick layers in sections around the collar and cuffs (apparently he wasn't the only one tracking various hurts).

By the third day, they had a system down. She brought in a blanket and a stack of towels from the medical supply (when he'd asked if she were allowed, she'd shrugged her shoulders, but, so far, if anyone had said anything to her about it, Beth had kept Daryl in the dark). She would turn her back as he stripped out of the jump suit and, while he carefully toweled off, she would wring out as much water as she could into the five-gallon paint bucket that served as his toilet. She'd then sandwich the shirt and pants between layers of towels to soak up as much dampness as possible while they visited, with him tightly wrapping the blanket around his naked body and her snuggled against him. When she left, she'd keep her back to him again so he could safely hand her the blanket and towels – apparently, she could bring these things with her, but she couldn't leave them behind.

There was always the momentary, initial strangeness of being naked under a blanket while Beth tucked herself against him, and the admittedly irrational but still very present fear that she might catch a glimpse of his scars (and he was aware enough of the way most normal people functioned to know that it was weird to be more concerned about her getting an eyeful of his back than he was about her accidentally seeing his dick). But, once that few seconds passed, having her there easily made up for whatever shit he'd had to put up with that day. It made his head spin, whenever he let his thoughts get the better of him and he dwelled too long on the situation he now found himself in, but then Beth would breeze into his cell as if it were the most perfectly natural thing in the world to do, as if there were no place else she'd rather be and no one else she'd rather be with. They'd go through their toweling-off ritual and she'd pry a few details about his day out of him until she could sense he'd hit his limit when it came to personal sharing, and then she'd take over with story after story. Things that had happened at work that day, or something funny one of the kids had done. Good people she knew and good memories she had made during their time apart. Last night, when Daryl had mentioned having to dig out and fertilize a row of raised garden bed boxes, all the while being glared at and occasionally cussed out by a barefoot, crotchety old man in overalls and a bee-keeper's hat (netting and all), Beth had launched into a twenty-minute commentary on old Charlie Preston (the ornery old redneck in question) who grew the best tomatoes she'd ever tasted and tended the beehives outside the largest of the Sanctuary's greenhouses, who never had a nice thing to say about anything or anyone but still always slipped an extra spoonful of honey into her jar whenever she came to buy from him.

But tonight, something was definitely off. She was still going through the usual motions, setting the lantern by the door and trading towels for his dirty clothes in a well-rehearsed ritual. But her shoulders drooped, and her hands were sluggish as she wrung the water from each leg of his sweatpants, and she kept changing the rhythm to the tune she unconsciously hummed, as though the original version had been more upbeat but she was too melancholy to keep up the tempo.

He cleared his throat to signal that it was okay for her to turn around, but when she went to get the lantern, she also picked up something else she'd hidden behind it before carefully settling in her usual spot next to him.

"Brought you somethin'," she presented him a sealed glass mason jar, densely packed with various chunks of food, "Homemade vegetable soup. I know it ain't warmed up, but it's still really good."

Daryl frowned and shook his head, "Ain't gonna get you in trouble over a bowl of soup. Ya said you weren't allowed to bring anythin' like this." Not that he wanted to refuse – far from it. One small dogfood sandwich a day on top of a year of low rations at Alexandria, on top of two years of feelin' sick to his stomach every time he thought about how badly he'd failed the petite blonde by his side… he'd felt himself lagging more every day, and today's heavy lifting and slogging through the rain had definitely taken its toll on his already limited physical strength. But he'd rather fall flat on his face from exhaustion in front of every single Savior than find out what kind of punishment Beth would face if Negan got wind of, and fed up with, her sneaking contraband into his cell. Besides, she already had to worry about earning enough points to feed herself and her kids without trying to slip him food as well.

"Your argument might carry a lot more weight if we couldn't both hear your stomach growlin'," she pointed out, half-grinning as she waggled the jar under his nose.

"Ain't takin' food from you and your kids' mouths."

Even in the limited light, he could see her eyes go steely, "I can take care of myself and my children just fine, thank you very much."

_The hell - that hit a nerve._ Deciding that an at-least partial surrender was the safest course of action, Daryl offered, "Make ya a deal. Sing that song you were hummin' just now, and I'll eat."

"Thought you didn't like my singin'," she softly recalled a conversation from their first night at the funeral home.

"Ain't no jukebox," he had no trouble remembering.

"It's not a very happy song," she broke from their reminiscing.

_Figured that bit out for myself, funny enough,_ he thought but wisely didn't say aloud. But he'd learned by observing Beth that, though she could fill silence easily enough, she rarely talked about her own feelings. But she had a personal rule about music needing to come from something true, and she only sang what she was feeling in a given moment. It had led to some interesting lullabies for Judith at times. But if Daryl wanted to know what was on her mind, getting her to sing was his best bet.

"You can either sing, or you could just tell me what's got you all twisted up inside. I ain't eatin' until you do one or the other."

"What makes you think something's botherin' me?"

Daryl didn't bother to respond, just raised an eyebrow and leveled a stare in her direction until she rolled her eyes, "Okay, fine, I ain't myself today. But what are you gonna do if I choose singing instead of tellin' you about it, which is what I know you really want me to do?"

"Eat one spoonful so's I can say I kept my end, and then not eat the rest until you tell me what's goin' on."

She narrowed her eyes, "Don't you try to out-stubborn me, Daryl Dixon. We both know you'll lose."

Gently teasing her seemed to be bringing her out of her earlier funk. _Maybe it ain't as bad as I'm makin' it out to be._ Still, he pushed a little further, "Yeah, but tonight, you got somewhere you gotta be. Clock's tickin' if you want me to eat before you have to go to that weekly meetin'."

Saturdays, Daryl had learned, were a bit different than the usual work-to-death routine. Not only were these to be the designated day for regular runs to Alexandria, but, every Saturday night, all the adults of the Sanctuary (adult being defined as anyone eighteen and up and any teenager who had met the Sanctuary's coming-of-age mark of killing 1000 walkers) gathered on the factory floor for a town-hall style meeting. Daryl, of course, as their prisoner, was not invited, but the change in routine did mean that he got put back in his cell a bit earlier, as families would eat in their own apartments before leaving an older child in charge for the hour or so it took for leaders of various responsibilities within the community to share news, request additional workers for special jobs, or deal with any concerns that had cropped up that week.

Mentioning the meeting seemed to bring Beth down again, and Daryl inwardly sighed. Why was it he never seemed to be able to do right by her?

"You sure you wanna hear that song? I can sing somethin' else if you really wanna hear…"

"Sing whatever you want," Daryl reached for the jar and spoon she offered. _Yes, I want you to sing that song, or whatever it is that's gonna tell me what's makin' you so damn miserable._

When she started, her voice was soft, making him wonder if she was out of practice. Did she not sing anymore since coming here?

_Ever since I was a kid,  
I remember having dreams of grandeur,  
I was gonna be someone. I know what I want._

_Everybody played second best,  
And I held you back just like all the rest.  
Now I think I got what I want._

_Everybody's got to fight their demons.  
And you know I had to fight mine, too.  
It took a lot out of me, it took a lot out of you_

_To be living in Oz, living In Oz;  
Sometimes the dream can wake you.  
Living in Oz, living in Oz;  
Sometimes the dream can shock you, too._

_All the money that I spend on you  
Doesn't mean a thing if the love's not true.  
Baby please, I'll get what you want._

_Can't you tell me you and me ain't lost?  
I know what I did, I know what it cost.  
Now I'm yours, but I'm not what you want._

_All the fightin' will have been for nothin'  
If at the end I can't have you.  
I'll throw it all away if that's what you want me to do,_

_'Cause it's funny how desire can burn you up inside  
And make you commit emotional suicide.  
Everybody's got the desire to leave their mark;  
Some just do it over a trail of broken hearts_

_To keep living in Oz, living in Oz;  
Sometimes the dream can shake you.  
Living in Oz, living in Oz;  
Sometimes the dream can wake you, too._

Is that what she thought of herself? Trampling over everyone around her out of some kind of selfishness? That he didn't want to be wherever she was, and that everyone around her was damned lucky she was even a small part of their world? But he couldn't say any of that. He knew if he did, she'd just shrug and say it was just a song, nothing more. Instead, he twisted the metal lid off the mason jar and stuck the spoon halfway in, pulling out a random medley of vegetables and shoving them in and _Christ almighty_, it was all he could not to abandon the spoon and just up-end the entire contents of the jar straight into his mouth.

"'s good," was all he said, but something of the bliss he felt at the explosion of flavors and the feeling of _real food_ hitting his belly must have showed on his face, because Beth quirked a knowing grin before ducking her head back against his side.

"At least I've done something right today," she muttered.

Well, that was an opening he could take advantage of, "Something go wrong in the hospital wing today? Someone get hurt?" _Doctors got upset over patients they couldn't help, that was a thing, right?_

But Beth was shaking her head. "No, everything's fine there. I'm fine, really. Just tired. It's stupid…" she trailed off.

"Come on, you're always makin' me tell you when I got bad shit goin' round in my head."

"It's not even… there's so much more to be thinkin' about and worryin' over, with our family in Alexandria, and Maggie's baby, and you… and this is just, it's just silliness, I know it is, I made it through so much more, this oughta be nothin'…"

Daryl set the empty glass jar down beside him (damn, he really was hungry) and wrapped both arms around her middle, turning her so her back was against his side and he could hold onto her like he had that first night. And that, it seemed, was signal enough for the dam to burst.

"I'm a terrible mom," she whispered tearfully. "Babysittin' was so easy, you can always give them back. Even Judy, if she got fussy, it was like, even though I was the one takin' care of her the most, she wasn't _my_ baby. What was I even thinkin', Daryl? Tim's only eleven years younger than me, did you know that? There was more space between Mama and Daddy than there is between me and Tim. Eleven years… I ain't old enough to be his mama, or Sunni's! Twenty-one's barely old enough to be havin' one child. I'm just… I'm screwin' up everythin' with them, all of 'em, and I don't know how to fix it or if I even…"

Daryl squeezed her tighter around the middle and rested his forehead on the top of her braided hair. "You love 'em?" he murmured.

"What?"

"The kids, you love 'em, right? Not just the twins, but the older two, just the same as if they had come from inside ya?"

"Yes, of course. This ain't got nothin' to do with lovin' em. They're my babies, all four of 'em."

"They get enough to eat today?"

She sighed, "Yes."

"Got better shoes than the sorry ones on your feet right now? Sleepin' tonight somewhere cleaner and better smellin' than this place?"

Beth put her arms overtop his and gripped at his elbows, "I know I'm givin' em everything they need to not die. That ain't the same as bein' a good mama."

"'s still more 'n' better than I had growin' up," Daryl revealed. This was the closest he'd come to discussing the uglier parts of his home-life since their drunk afternoon at the moonshine trailer. Even that day, all he'd really let her see, with his ten-second tour of the trailer's interior, was that he'd grown up poor white trash. But poor folks could still love their kids. "If my ma loved me, it wasn't enough to stay sober. And I know the old man couldn't've cared less whether any of us lived or died. Whatever it is you think ya' ain't doin' right or enough of, they got what they need and they know you love 'em."

"I ain't tryin' to compare or make it like what other kids go through ain't horrible," Beth tried to apologize, but Daryl gave her a bear hug squeeze from behind until she got the message.

"I know that, girl. Ain't nothin'. Now, come on, how bad did you fuck up?" he teased.

She huffed a breath of laughter, which was a definite step in the right direction as far as Daryl was concerned. She had enough going on and was doing far too much to be feeling down on herself about what he was fairly sure was the kind of mistake any decent parent makes.

"Last night, after I left here, Sunni's teacher stops me on the stairs. Says she understands I've been dealin' with a lot lately, but it was real important that Sunni come back to afternoon classes, she was missing out on all the readin' and she already struggles with it. I had no idea what she was talkin' about. Turns out, my seven-year-old has been going to her teacher every day after lunch with the same note – 'Mama said to tell you she wants me to help in the greenhouse' – except she hasn't going into my greenhouse, because I'm in there every day tending the herbs and such we use for healin'. A seven-year-old skippin' school every day for over a month it turns out, and I have no idea where she goes. It's not like this place is all that big, only so many buildin's and a great big walker fence all around, but no one sees a little girl all by herself and thinks somethin' might be wrong, thinks maybe they should tell her mama?" Beth was getting riled up.

"So, after I _finally_ get the twins to bed, and I ask Tim if he'll go read in his bed so Sunni and I can talk alone. I sit her down, try to be calm about it. But my child has been goin' missin' every day and I wanna know where she's been sneakin' off to and I wanna know why. But she can't say, she never can say anythin', and she's a little girl whose never been good with writin', and I keep tellin' myself we've got to sit down and really practice but I never seem to have time and now, when I really need her to just _tell_ me what's goin' on in her head, she doesn't have the words. And I can see she's tryin' to figure out what it is she wants to… and I can hear a voice in my head, just as clear, 'don't push, it's not her fault, she's doin' the best she knows how', but I just… she's cryin' 'cause she's so frustrated and feelin' like she's in trouble, which she is, but fussin' at her ain't helpin' anything, just makin' it worse. So I finally tell her to just go to bed, and I can hear her sniffles even with her and Tim's door closed, which, of course, makes me feel like the worst person in the world. No matter what, we've never gone to bed upset with each other."

Dary could hear her getting choked up again just talking about it, but he didn't want to interrupt her, sensing that she needed to get it all out of her system, "I'm tryin' to get myself calmed down and wipe my face enough that I can go in there and try to make it right so she can at least get a decent night's sleep instead of cryin' herself out. But then Liam just lets out this, this _scream_, and I'm so sure when I open the door I'm gonna find somethin' in there hurtin' him… I've heard about night terrors from parents, but I've never… He was so scared, and I couldn't… he wouldn't wake up, or his little eyes would be open but he wasn't hearin' or seein' except for whatever was in his head. And of course, he and Lily are in the room together, so he's woken her up and she's cryin' because he's upset and it scares her. I finally got her calm and back in bed, but Liam… I couldn't calm him, nothin' worked. He just thrashed and screamed like something was killin' him. I sat up with him on the couch all night. He'd sleep, then he'd scream. All night. And then there's Tim." She sighed.

Daryl frowned even deeper than he already had been. The other three, he never saw and they didn't know him from Adam, but if that boy, who was definitely old enough to know better, was givin' Beth trouble after all she was doin' for her kids, Daryl was going to have something to say to him about it come morning.

"He told me he wanted to go out and practice with my bow in the early mornin's, and I was fine with that. Made me a little sad that I wasn't out there with him. Taught him to use his first bow, right after… he was so proud, the day he got his first rabbit. We were in South Carolina by then, and he'd been workin' at this child-sized crossbow we'd found at Terminus every time we stopped for even a few minutes. 'Look, I got us dinner!'. First time I'd really seen him smile like kids oughta always be smilin'."

"Should be proud, rabbit's not easy to hit," Daryl agreed, wondering where this was headed.

"When he first asked me about early morning practices, I could tell he was hopin' I'd go with him. But with the little ones and so many of the women preferring to see me, especially when they're pregnant, I'm just… So I'm usually asleep when he goes out there, or maybe just getting out of bed. But this morning, of course, I'm still sittin' on the couch with Liam, and he's finally settled and sleepin' alright. I can tell right off that Tim didn't sleep much. Can't blame him, the walls ain't paper-thin but they ain't soundproof, either. He sits down on the other side of me and leans against me, hugs me for a bit, which feels amazin' after everythin' last night. Then he says, 'Don't worry, Mom, it's gonna be okay soon. Mr. Negan caught us working on my count which was a little scary at first but he's cool with it, so I think I can finish by the end of the summer. And then we'll have my points, 'cause I don't even want a gun, plus I can start working and then you won't have to worry about points or work as much."

Daryl tried to work out in his mind what was bothering her about this this most, "You don't want him quittin' school so young?"

"No, I mean…" she paused, took a breath, and started again, "No, of course I don't want him quitting school, not even part-time, but that's not… I didn't know he was going out there, Daryl. When Tim said he wanted to practice, I thought he meant at the range, " she said, referring to a cleared area along the west side of the factory, on the opposite end of the compound from the school, where targets for archery and knife-throwing were set up so that only the fence walkers were in any danger of being hit by stray shots.

"I told you I was workin' with him. I thought that was what you wanted."

"When you said you'd run into him out there and were keepin' an eye on him, I thought you meant you were coachin' him through the fence. You know, you workin' the other side and givin' him pointers. I didn't think he was actually fightin' walkers every mornin'."

"I'd never let anything happen to him," Daryl vowed.

"I know that, silly," her fingers squeezed his arms tightly for a second, "Even if he weren't mine, you'd never let a child get hurt if you could help it. It's just… that's what Tim is, he's just a little boy. 'bout the same age as Carl was when y'all first came to the farm, remember?"

"M-hmm," Daryl nodded, his beard-hairs tugging lose a few of her long, fine blonde strands from her braid. "Long time ago. You'd hardly recognize him now if you saw him."

"Well, I don't want that for Tim. I want him to get to be a boy for as long as he can. Deserves it, after all he's been through. Ten-year-olds don't need to be worrying about quitting school and getting any old job that'll take him because he thinks his mama can't put food on the table or clothes on their backs."

"Ain't that what most kids do here? Not the worryin' part, I mean, but the job trainin' or whatever it is," Daryl asked.

"Well, yes, but not this young! That's the whole point of having that mark. Negan had the school set it up so kids would have to work at it for years. It gave them something big to work towards, like graduation used to be, and it kept them busy and out of trouble. If a kid were really good, they'd get there a bit earlier than others, but the whole idea of it was to keep them from growin' up before their time. I think the youngest so far was, like, fourteen, fifteen? And that was a big deal, I remember folks talkin' then about how he was too young and we should maybe re-think the mentorin' rules to keep him from gettin' through his job trainin' too fast. No one Tim's age has ever finished, how could they? 1000 walkers, and no bullets allowed? No ten-year-old kid can do that!"

"Well, our kid can," Daryl quipped, a bit of smugness and pride in his voice.

Beth turned her head to look at him with a sad smile as she whispered, "I never meant for you to get trapped into – "

He bumped his nose against her forehead to stop that train of thought, "Girl, ain't trapped me into nothin'." Another nose-bump, "You want me to slow him down?"

He could see the wheels-turning expression on her face before she shook her head, "No, he's so pleased with how he's doin'. 'Sides, Negan's already seen y'all out there, it'd be strange if ya suddenly stopped."

"Didn't say we'd stop. Plenty of things I could teach him, keep him busy so he doesn't get too high on that walker count."

"Maybe," she murmured. "Let me think on it, okay?" Daryl nodded, wanting her to know he had her back no matter what she decided. She was the mama, after all. "While we're on the subject of kids goin' off and doin' things behind my back, you haven't happened to see a blonde-haired, green-eyed snidget sneaking around when you're working, have you?"

"Snidget?"

"You know, small, golden-colored bird that flits about, can change direction in the blink of an eye, almost impossible to catch?"

"The hell you talkin' about? Ain't no such bird, not around here anyhow."

She giggled, "It's a made-up animal, Daryl, from the _Harry Potter_ books?"

"You nicknamed your kid after a bird that ain't even real?"

"Well, if you saw her movin' through the woods, 'specially if she's climbin' trees…"

"So call her 'squirrel' or 'chipmunk'."

"Sunni ain't like those things, she's… she's like a snidget," Beth shrugged helplessly.

"I ain't callin' her that. But I'll keep an eye out for her. You think about what you wanna say to her, try to figure out this whole cuttin' school thing?"

"Not yet. But Sunday's my day off anyway unless somethin's happenin' like a baby bein' born. I told them, when I was gettin' their dinner on the table, that we'd take the whole day tomorrow just for us. Even got some fresh honey from Charlie 'cause Sunni's favorite treat is fresh-baked bread with honey and butter. Figure if we're all havin' a good time and relaxin' a bit, it might make it easier for her to tell me what's goin' on."

Daryl nodded. "Well, put it this way, when I was her age was about when Merle gave me my first cigarette. So, long as she ain't sneakin' off for a smoke and a six-pack, you're probably doin' alright with her."

Beth outright laughed at that. "You feelin' any better?" he risked asking.

"Yeah. I told you, it was just stupid silliness. Like we ain't got a whole world full of bigger things to be worryin' over."

"Ain't stupid or silly," Daryl countered, "You're a great mama. They're lucky to have you worryin' over 'em. You're just tired. Ain't no wonder, neither, up all night with upset kids. Workin' too hard." He got quiet, considering whether he should say what had been on his mind ever since he first wrapped his arms around her ten days ago.

"Maybe I should go to Negan. Tell him I changed my mind. Tell him he's won, or whatever. Could maybe move up there with you, if you want, help you out with things. Maybe you wouldn't have to worry about so much."

"What, first Tim and now you, too? Don't go thinkin' just 'cause I had a rough day that I can't hold my own."

"Girl, 'course you can. Can do anything you put your mind to. It's just… I see all those folks at lunch every day, all those tables, they got two parents lookin' out. Ain't right, you havin' to go it alone." He put his head down, gnawed on the inside of his bottom lip as he confessed, "Should've chose you from the start. Not just when Negan said I could. Should've told Rick back at that damned church that there weren't no way I was leavin' 'til I found ya. That if he didn't like it he could just go on without me."

"And leave Judith with no one to look after her?" Beth gently scoffed.

Daryl wasn't letting her push this aside, though, "She had her Daddy. Her brother. Our whole family. You only had me, and I left ya. Wish I'd never opened that damned door."

"I used to wish that too," she shifted against him, burrowing deeper into his side.

"Not anymore?"

"No. You wouldn't have found our family. I wouldn't have found Sunni and Tim, had Lily and Liam, found this place… As aggravatin' as it can all be sometimes… but I do miss 'us'… miss when it was just the two of us out in the woods, Daryl and Beth against the world… I miss how that felt, miss the quiet of it all. Miss my huntin' and trackin' lessons with Mr. Dixon."

He snorted at the title. No one had ever called him "Mr." except for her.

"But that's not who we get to be anymore. Gotta put it away, right? Besides, you never know, somethin' good's always comin' along if you're lookin' for it. Just 'cause we can't go back don't mean we can't find something else we'd want even more."

"There you go, always lookin' at the bright side of things." Daryl paused, letting a bit of silence take over before asking, "What _do_ you want?"

"What do you mean?"

"If you could have anything, any kind of life, what would it be? What do you really want?" He was genuinely curious.

She stilled in his arms for a moment before suddenly turning to meet his gaze, "You really wanna know?" Her eyes were bright and she had a hopeful little grin on her face.

And he did. In that moment, he suddenly wanted to know every little detail of every hope and dream she'd ever had.

At a small encouraging nod from him, Beth's grin grew, as if she had some great secret she was about to share with only him, before turning back around and pulling his arms back around her, and, though he couldn't see her face this way, the excitement was clear in her voice. "About five miles east of here, just past the road you'd turn on to head towards Alexandria, there's a farm. The family who lives there, the Lykins, they've kept it this whole time. And we trade with them. I go out there every couple of months or so to check on them, the farm animals, they're really great people. Reminds me a lot of what Mama and Daddy were like when I was growin' up. Anyway, on the north edge of their farm are woods and about a mile, mile and half in, there's an old mill house, sittin' on the other side of the creek running through. It's in real good shape, all stone walls, and with a water wheel for workin' the grind-stone that wouldn't take much to get working again. Three stories – the bottom level's built down into the hillside the whole thing's sittin' on, and that's where all the grains would get ground down to different flours – there's even an old dirt and gravel road that could be cleared again without too much trouble that leads right up to the lower level entrance. And then the main floor is just one big room with two fireplaces on either end and we'd have to rebuild the stairs to the lofts, but Caiman Lykins and I brought a ladder out there one time to check it out, and the loft floors are still pretty solid. It wraps around three walls and it's all open, but it's more than enough room."

"Am I invited?"

"'Course you're gonna be there. Can't go running a grist mill for all the communities and outposts without ya. We'll put the kids' beds on one of the bigger sides of the loft and we could be on the other. And the roof's got to be re-done, but when we do, we could build big open doors into the roof, like storm doors to a cellar, but openin' right up to the sky so we can look up at the stars. We could make a garden and a chicken coop for fresh eggs and maybe keep a couple of other animals, or just go over to the Lykins farm whenever we felt like, they would love it, and all the kids could play together and Nicole would homeschool ours right along with hers. And we could build a greenhouse so I can grow all the medical herbs and things. Maybe a smokehouse for all the game you'll hunt. We'd have a horse or two, and I'd ride up to the Sanctuary a few times a week to help out with the hospital wing, maybe teach others what I know, make sure their healing ointments and such are still well-stocked. Maybe on Sundays we'd all go to Alexandria, see our family, let the cousins play together, and have a big meal, but then we'd come home to our own quiet little place in the woods. No more big communities, no more feelin' stuck in the middle of all this fightin'. Just us. That's what I want."

And then she sighed, and her voice turned wistful, a bit disappointed, "Almost had it, too. What grains we grow in the fields around the Sanctuary, it's a lot, but not so much it can't be ground by hand and still be manageable. But that satellite outpost was gonna put us over, be almost triple how much grain we could grow in a year. Enough that we could start buildin' up a food storage reserve again. And it was enough to convince Negan and the rest that restorin' the mill and gettin' someone settled out was worth doin' this year. But now, no outpost, so no new farmin'. No need for pullin' all those workers for a mill, 'specially with everyone nervous that Alexandria might attack again. Ain't too many people gonna line up to volunteer to work on a project out in the middle of nowhere after what happened at the satellite station. But in a few years, maybe, if things settle down and stay calm long enough for folks to feel safe again, maybe – "

Two quick knocks on the cell door cut off whatever Beth's train of thought might have been, before the door was yanked open and Negan stood on the other side, grin growing almost impossibly wide as he surveyed the scene in front of him.

Daryl knew how it must look, him wrapped in a blanket but obviously naked underneath, Beth leaning against him. Fine, let him draw whatever conclusions he wanted. They were supposed to be married, after all.

"Oh, my fuckin' goodness, well isn't this awkward?" he chuckled, "I am _terribly_ sorry to interrupt. Although, I'm not quite sure if I'm interrupting the beginning of something or the end of it… Doc looks all put-together, shoes tied and everything. Come on now, Daryl – a gentleman should always take care of the lady, s_he comes first_, you know."

Beth had tightened her fingers around his forearms ever-so-slightly when Negan had first opened the door, and Daryl could feel her flexing as she asked with a syrupy sweetness, "Is someone hurt? Or sick? Because I'm sure you wouldn't be bargin' in on a private conversation _that you promised me_ unless it was somethin' serious."

Even with his face mostly hidden in shadow, Daryl could see Negan's eyes flash with some unnamed emotion as Beth challenged him. "Meeting's about to start. I'd hate for you to miss it."

"I know what time it is, Negan. I'll be there in a minute."

"I don't doubt, Doc. Wasn't talking to you. Daryl's going to be joining us for this one." Negan didn't move, just shifted his eyes to Daryl's, "Might want to put some clothes on. Got a job for you. Unless that's a problem, Doc?" he challenged her back.

"No, that's fine."

Beth stood carefully and walked past Negan and down the hall that would lead to the lower level of the factory. Without another word, Negan closed the door but stood waiting on the other side as Daryl quickly threw the blanket off and rushed to pull the sweatshirt over his head. He may not have been much for dating and his marriage may be a sham, but even he knew that, when a woman said everything was 'fine', duck-and-cover was just about the smartest thing a man could do. Whatever was about to happen tonight, Daryl had a feeling that 1 – it was going to be interesting and 2 – Negan wouldn't enjoy it nearly as much as he thought he would.

More importantly, Daryl was going out there with a new sense of purpose. That mill house on a hill by a creek with nothing but him, her, and a few kids he could learn to love like he had Lil' Asskicker didn't sound half-bad. Definitely not too much to ask for someone who had been to hell and back and was still fighting to protect her family. And if a quiet life in the woods away from everyone is what Beth wants, he was going to do everything he could to make sure she got it.

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*Song credit: "Living in Oz", Rick Springfield, 1983.

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**Hope this tides you all over for a few days, because this girl has GOT to get some work done on her dissertation, but I couldn't leave us all hangin' without a weekend dose of Beth and Daryl! As always, any and all reviews are greatly appreciated!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed last week's Beth and Daryl chapter (I'm getting the feeling you all would like more of those, yes?), and extra special thanks for your patience with me taking so long to update. Trust me, I'd much rather be working on this full-time, but, sadly, fanfiction doesn't pay bills...**

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Chapter 13: The Art of the Deal, Part IV

Aaron wasn't sure he should be here. He wasn't a Savior and had no plans to ever be one, either. But when he had stayed in his room last Saturday night, figuring he had no place at the Sanctuary's weekly gathering to discuss Sanctuary business, his absence had been commented on by nearly every person he came in contact with the next morning. And since the last thing he wanted was for Negan to think he wasn't holding up his end of their decidedly one-sided bargain, Aaron had foregone his nightly ritual of writing to Eric and Luke in order to put on the nicer of the two sets of street clothes he'd been given and made his way to the ground floor.

But now that he was here, he had no idea where to go. Like the midday mealtime, all the market stalls were pushed to the sides, the tables and benches more than half filled already. The rest of the Sanctuary's residents were standing in clusters, conversing casually, the sheer number of voices making the general noise reverberate loudly in the large concrete and steel space. Aaron stood awkwardly to the side near the hallway he'd just entered from, wondering if there was some kind of pecking order to the seating arrangement and where he would be the least obtrusive. _Like the first day of high school all over again – all the cliques are already established, except butting in on the wrong group could lead to a lot more than getting shoved into the lockers._

He saw the McManus brothers waving him over about the same time as he felt a delicate touch on his arm. He raised a hand to acknowledge them while turning to look over his shoulder.

"We meet again," Beth quipped.

"Fancy that," Aaron returned with a grin. "It's been a while, Doc." That was true; while they both worked in the medical wing and were often just around the corner from each other, he hadn't seen more than a passing glance of her since she gave him a physical and a pep talk his first day in the Sanctuary. Turning to face her fully, he caught a faint sour odor in the air.

It must have shown on his face, "Daryl's clothes and cell ain't exactly minty-fresh if ya know what I mean."

Aaron turned serious and leaned in to murmur, "How is he?"

Beth's voice matched his own, "Not as good as I'd like. Shoulder wound keeps openin' and he ain't gettin' enough to eat. Workin' on it, though."

"How are you?"

She sighed deeply, "I'm makin' it."

"Aren't we all?" If she was going to be candid, so was he, "Which part surprised him more, having kids or having a wife?"

"I've never actually said we're husband and wife. Maybe Beth Dixon is because Daryl's my big brother. Or I married his big brother before he passed. Or we're just two strangers who happen to have the same last name. Could happen, ya know," she grinned.

"Uh, huh," he deadpanned. "Is this going to hurt him, if it all comes out?"

"I'm not going to let it," Beth vowed.

_Not going to let it hurt him? Or not going to let the truth about your not-marriage come to light?_ But all Aaron said aloud was, "He's my friend. He missed you. He didn't let a lot of people see it, but… he did."

Beth seemed to understand what Aaron couldn't give voice to, how much Daryl had been hurting for not having her around, how guilty he felt for losing her the way he had. "Well, then let's take care of him. Come on, you can sit with me. That way, when people stare, we can each pretend they're starin' at the other one."

He chuckled and followed as she headed towards Murphy and Connor, who simultaneously popped up from the bench they were sitting on to sit on the table, freeing up space for Beth and Aaron to sit with them, both men clapping Aaron on the shoulder and wrapping gentle arms around Beth by way of greeting. Based on the solitary chair set up near the head of the room, they were off to the side but at the front of the assembly.

"So, this being my first town hall, what should I expect?" Aaron asked the group, well aware of the quick side-glances and outright stares being leveled in his direction by passers-by.

"Well, normally, I'd say it's pretty boring stuff," Connor began. "The leader of every department gives a brief update, what jobs need filling, projects coming up and the like. Changes in inventory that might affect point prices for food and such. Each floor has a volunteer neighborhood watch that reports in any issues with living spaces. But tonight's might be a bit different. Couple of our neighbors got called down to the conference room to chat with Negan about an hour ago," he directed at Beth while glancing pointedly at the lit furnace.

She nodded, a troubled expression clouding her face briefly, and then explained to Aaron, "I live on the sixth floor, along with the twins. Everyone else lives on the lower floors, 2nd through 4th, though they're all gettin' pretty full, so 5th floor's being cleaned up so any new folks can start movin' in there. The only other people livin ' on the sixth floor are this group who used to be with the FBI, profilers or somethin', real high up agents who all worked together before and all got out of DC together. They're good people, mind ya, we all get along, have dinners together, and they been helpin' me out tons, lettin' the kids play in their apartments when I go see Daryl. It's just that, while they all help with other jobs, Negan also uses them for dealin' with folks who may have broken the rules. So if he's called them in for somethin', it probably means that someone's gettin' punished. He did barge in on me and Daryl, said he had a job for Daryl to do at tonight's meetin'."

Aaron nodded. He remembered vaguely the twins mentioning something about this in one of their initial lunchtime conversations. Aaron had noticed the warmth from the fire when he came in the room but dismissed it – the furnace had been lit a couple of times since his arrival because of the unusual cold and rainy weather, so he hadn't thought much of it being lit tonight, but, if the twins were right, the fire tonight was for anything but comfort. He was about to ask for more details, but Murphy was grinning widely and leaning over to mock-whisper to Beth, "So, what exactly did the big man walk in on? Were the two of you just kissing, or had you already made it to full-on – "

"Murphy McManus, get your mind out of the gutter!" Beth admonished, blushing fiercely as she turned to Connor, "Do somethin' about your brother before my elbow 'accidentally' ends up jabbin' somewhere that makes him _very_ uncomfortable," she warned.

"Do it," Connor encouraged, "Fucking deserves it! What's in your head, asking a lady something like that? Jesus Christ, it's like you've got no fucking manners at all!"

"Lord's fucking name," Murphy admonished, to which Connor rolled his eyes.

"Fine, _hail Mary, mother of…"_ he muttered the rest of the prayer under his breath as a loud clang of Negan firmly rapping Lucille against the upper level railing brought a general hush over the room. Almost as one, the entire population of the Sanctuary stood and then brought themselves down on one knee, Beth gently pulling Aaron along with her.

"Whatever's about to happen," she quietly muttered as Negan made his way to the stairway landing just above their heads, "he'll be watching. Don't look away."

Aaron gave a quick nod to let her know he'd heard and tried to catch Beth's eye, but her attention was on Daryl, who had shuffled in unnoticed from the same hallway where he and Beth had briefly talked earlier, head down and hands gripping a mop in a rolling janitor's bucket. Dwight knelt behind him, one fist roughly gripping the back of Daryl's sweatshirt to keep him on his knees as well.

"Unfortunately, before we can move forward with tonight's little fireside chat, we have a nasty bit of business to take care of," Negan declared as he leaned over the railing. Unlike any other time Aaron had seen him, there was no smile on the lead Savior's face. "It's been a good long while since we've had to deal with crime in our own community, so long in fact that I was hoping we were past this. As if we don't have enough shit to deal with from what's outside our fences. And what's about to happen, what _has_ to happen, is going to be fucking hard on all of us. It'd be a whole lot easier to let it slide. But I can't do that. We have rules for a reason."

Familiar with the ritual, the kneeling residents of the Sanctuary all chorused, "The rules keep us alive."

Negan nodded, "That's right." He gestured for everyone to rise as he strolled down the rest of the staircase and made his way to the front of the room, "The rules keep us alive. Not just alive as in, not one of the rotting dead stumbling around. Alive as human beings. The rules keep us from falling apart, descending into chaos. Without the rules, we would be nothing. No better than the lawless thieves, the murderers, the rapists, the plunderers that we work so hard to save not only ourselves, but the rest of civilization from. The rules protect us. The rules make us strong. Strong enough to save not only ourselves, but others. Because that's who we are. We are the Saviors. We bring order and justice back into the world. And we can't do that if we ourselves don't live by rule of law."

He stood at the front of the group, who had all returned to their seats, and held Lucille straight down in front of him. "We all know the rules. We all contribute. We are honest with each other. We don't have to like every single person here, but we do have to respect one another. We do not harm each other with words, fists, or weapons. We honor our commitments – we do not cheat on our spouses, and we do not cheat or deal with each other unfairly. We do not steal." Aaron noted the change in tone as Negan listed the last rule. Apparently, this was the one that had been broken.

Aaron scanned the room and noticed that pretty much everyone else was doing the same, most with expression ranging from confusion to suspicion. One couple on the opposite side of the room stood out – neither one was looking around like the rest of the group. The woman sat stiffly with her eyes on the ground and her arms crossed over her stomach, either protectively or in pain, while the man, apparently her husband, sat beside her with an arm draped over her shoulder and hands gripping her upper arms. He stared straight at Negan with an inscrutable expression on his face. Aaron nudged Beth with his knee to get her attention and, keeping his hands low in his lap, discretely pointed at the odd couple. She didn't move much but murmured quietly, "I see them. I don't know them, they came in a few months ago, I think, but Dr. Carson must've done their check-in physicals. But you're right, somethin's off. If they're not the ones in trouble tonight, I'll try to get her into the office next week for an exam."

Negan paused as he scanned the room until he found who he was looking for, "Parker Hawkins." Negan pointed Lucille at a middle-aged man with thinning dark blonde hair sitting near the back of the room. Even at a distance, Aaron could see the man's fear as he shakily got to his feet. Negan pointed at him with two gloved fingers and twitched them to indicate that the nervous man should come to the front of the room. Aaron had never met him before but felt a surge of sympathy as he cast about, looking for supporters and, finding none, began an awkward shuffle towards Negan's outstretched hand and barbed bat.

"Sir," Aaron refocused on the mumbling, nervous wreck standing as far from Negan as he could and still be technically at the front of the audience. "I haven't… I mean, I wouldn't… I swear, I never…"

"Mr. Hawkins," Negan finally cut off the man's pleading, "I can't help but be fucking fascinated with your choice in footwear tonight."

"I…I don't know what –" the accused man began, but Negan wasn't done yet.

"Because if I had me a nice new pair of boots like the ones you procured earlier today, there's no way I'd be wearing those ratty pieces of shit on my feet. Unless, of course, I had smuggled them out of the supply closet instead of purchasing them at the market. See, it's Saturday, Parker. Laundry bags from the third floor get noticed when they're being toted around, especially when it's not that floor's laundry day. Gets people curious. And then they bring their curiosities to me. And then I have to interrupt my already limited free time to track down our law enforcement committee to investigate. And they have to spend a lot of their valuable time searching your apartment. Which is where the found the most amazing pair of brand-fucking-new, high-end, top-of-the-fucking-line hiking boots. Which you are conspicuously _not_ wearing. Probably because you know they'd be noticed, and then people might figure out that you didn't pay for them."

Negan took a sideways step so that, while he was still speaking to the accused, he could better address the crowd at large. "Before you start to stutter out some lame-ass excuse about purchasing log books needing a few days to be properly updated, the committee considered that. They checked your points log for your whole family. They made the clothing supply clerk pull his books for the past month and went line-by-fucking-line. So this isn't a matter of you just 'oopsie-daisy' going over on points. If it were, we wouldn't be doing this whole song and dance instead of getting to the real business of running our community. We'd just march you up to the labor officers, let them know how behind in points you'd gotten, and they'd fit you out with a nice jumpsuit and some extra shifts of hard community service until you'd worked off your debt and we'd call it square. But you know that already; you've had to swallow that shit work detail down twice in the last year. So this time, you thought you'd get around the system. If you have something to say for yourself, now's the time."

Hawkins swallowed thickly, wringing his hands so tightly that Aaron thought he might actually break a finger, "It was just a pair of shoes," he half-whispered. "There's no way to… no one can possibly earn enough points for everything we need to just get by… It's _just_ a pair of shoes," he pleaded for understanding.

"First off," Negan countered, "If 'no one can possibly earn enough points for everything they need to get by', then why is that you're the only one stealing shit from your own community? 482 people live inside these walls, _not_ counting our Alexandrian friends, and none of them are up here for having sticky fingers. And second, if it's _just_ a pair of shoes, why not save up for a pair? Plenty of work that needs doing, nothing stopping you from taking on extra shifts. Or bartering – people do it all the time. If it's _just_ a pair of shoes, why not take something that are a lot less likely to be noticed instead of going for the most expensive ones in the lot? What does someone working the burn crew need with a ridiculously fancy-pants pair of hiking boots? If it's _just_ a pair of shoes, why go to the trouble of stealing them when you fucking know what the punishment is? If it's _just_ a pair of shoes, why put your wife, your sister, and your parents through the absolute torture of watching you be punished?"

The man was so distracted by Negan slowing moving closer with each rhetorical question that he failed to notice the two men moving in behind him until they'd already grabbed him by the arms. Aaron watched them drag their prisoner over to the only chair and tie him to it, arms pinned behind his back while he weakly struggled and protested. Negan, meanwhile, walked over to the furnace, where Dwight was now waiting with protective gloves and a red-hot iron, having left Daryl still kneeling by the wall.

Negan carried the heated metal over to the seated man, who was still pleading and sweat-soaked from fear. "Mrs. Hawkins, Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins, Mrs. Godwin," Negan directly addressed the wife, parents, and sister of the accused thief, "I'd understand if you wanted to step out."

Like everyone else, Aaron looked towards the family, who were all visibly upset to varying degrees, but none of them moved to leave the factory floor. Negan nodded in approval and turned back to the prisoner, "I am truly sorry to have to do this."

It was the smell, more than the screams, that made Aaron faintly nauseous. The ironing was done in a few seconds, and the man stopped screaming as he passed out even before Negan had pulled the heated metal away from his face with a squelching sound of peeling skin and sizzling fat. But the odor of singed hair and scorched flesh lingered even after the security team had hauled the unconscious man towards the infirmary, followed by Dr. Carson. With a twitch of Negan's fingers, Daryl was finally allowed to rise to clean up the mess that Parker Hawkins had made of the chair and floor, the combination of fear and pain having been too much for the man's bladder and bowels.

"It's done," Negan addressed the room, "Parker Hawkins broke the rules, but he's been punished, and his slate is wiped clean. I hope that this moment, and his face, will be a reminder to all of us. I don't ever want to have to do this again, especially to one of our own. Now, as soon as Daryl fetches me a fresh chair, we can all move on to what needs doing around here."

The room filled with the low hum of quiet conversations during the brief transition period, and Aaron took advantage of the moment to inquire, "When was the last time someone had to be, you know…"

"Last fall," Beth answered, "A man was caught cheating on his wife. He got the iron, but the woman he was sleeping with hasn't yet."

"Why not?"

"She's pregnant," Connor leaned over to explain, "Negan always waits to find out whether or not the woman's got a bun in the oven. If she does, he'll wait until she's had time to recover from giving birth."

"Antibiotics are hard to come by," Beth added, "Old ones are all expired, and the medical community in North Carolina that makes 'em can only be so sure about how strong the new stuff is. Don't want to go givin' it to a pregnant lady and riskin' somethin' affecting her baby if the drugs are stronger than what we thought."

Negan rapped Lucille on the leg of his newly-acquired chair to get everyone's attention. Daryl, Aaron noticed, had been moved next to the furnace and was once again on his knees, the mop and bucket gone along with the soiled chair.

"Moving on. Neighborhood watch, anything for the good of the group?"

An older woman about a third of the way back stood up, "We talked earlier about this, but it's still an issue. We know that the rain has led to a lot more mud being tracked in, but people can't just keep sweeping off the extra dirt from their walkways over the railing. All it does is collect on the lower floors and in the main stairwell, only to get tracked back up again. And leaving your wet things on the railing just means water dripping down onto lower levels and ruining the paint job on the rails as well."

Negan nodded, "Sounds like this place could use a good old-fashioned deep Spring cleaning. Jobs office, can we make that happen?" He turned to a table in the center column just one row back from the front, where a thin woman with spiked auburn hair was penciling in notes on a pad of paper.

"Not a problem," she said, eyes never leaving her work. "As a heads-up, with all the rain, folks are gonna see quite a few changes in work detail, so make sure you're all paying attention to the schedule. And check the board if you're looking for extra shifts, 'cause there'll be plenty to go around."

Aaron nudged Beth, who quietly offered, "Most families have two log books, one for points and one for work details. You already know how the points log works; the work detail's pretty much the same. Every week, a runner from the jobs or labor office drops off your updated work schedule for the week. Most people don't work just one place like you and I do, they rotate into different things dependin' on their skills and what's needed. So their schedules can change every week. But some things, like workin' in the hospital wing, take special know-how, so we don't move around unless it's time for plantin' or harvestin' the fields. Everyone helps with those."

"Yet another reason I'm glad I work for you," Aaron quipped lightly under his breath, but Beth heard him all the same and nudged him playfully.

"Since we're talking about complications from the weather," a man at the same table as the auburn-haired woman spoke up, "we might as well go ahead and put this out there. The rain has seriously delayed planting. If it doesn't let up in the next few days, there won't be enough time for the fields to dry out and still get anything in the ground for the first round of grains. Potentially losing half the year's grain harvest is going to put a serious dent in our food resources. For the time being, until we can be certain of how the rest of the growing season is going to play out, we're putting a stop to all grains being sold in the market. And everyone should prepare for increased costs on all food, even what's grown in the greenhouses."

Upset murmuring broke out across the room. Murphy leaned over Beth's shoulder, "You know Connor and I've got more than enough points for the two of us. 'tis nothing at all to spot you and your little ones a few suppers now and again."

"Aye," Conner jumped in, "not as though we haven't nipped more than a few of those amazing biscuits of yours. It'd only be fair, really."

Beth turn around as she rolled her eyes, "What is it with the men in my life all collectively decidin' I can't hold my own?"

"Ooh, I don't know what Daryl did, but he'd best be apologizin' to ya real quick-like," Murphy teased.

Beth shushed him as Negan got the rest of the room calmed down, "Temporary precautions are necessary until we know what we're dealing with, but we will all pull together and we will all get through this."

One by one, Negan called for different leaders to sound off on issues or updates, almost like a corporation's CEO going around the board room getting input from various department heads. Aaron got the feeling that, although it seemed as if Negan was hearing all these reports at the same time everyone else was, there wasn't much the Savior's leader wasn't already aware of before walking into the weekly community gathering.

It was amusing, however, to watch as he called for an update from medical. Dr. Carson was technically the head of the hospital wing and Negan looked to him when asking if there were any issues that needed to be shared. But Carson, who had come back several minutes before from treating his newest burn victim, looked wide-eyed and slightly panicked at Beth, who shook her head with a knowing grin while Dr. Carson then attempted to seem knowledgeable and authoritative as he pronounced that medical had nothing to report. Aaron could only see so much without actively turning around, but from what he caught in his peripheral vision, others had noticed the wordless exchange and were either smirking or rolling their eyes. It was like Beth had said on their first encounter, Dr. Carson might have seniority, but she was essentially in charge of all things related to the hospital wing and, apparently, most everyone else knew it, too.

"If anybody's got any issues they think we need to discuss as a whole, here's your chance," Negan was relaxed but now leaning forward in his chair as if preparing to stand. From all appearances, the Savior's leader felt that the meeting was on the verge of wrapping up.

"What about Alexandria?" someone shouted from the back of the room. "What are we doing about them?"

Aaron couldn't help but stiffen at the mention of home. The question had set the entire crowd into a buzz of whispers, and he knew without turning that anyone who wasn't staring him was glaring at Daryl (who had also seized up but couldn't otherwise move from his spot by the furnace). Beside him, Beth remained the picture of calm as she gently squeezed his knee in reassurance.

Negan, meanwhile, remained in his seat but had stopped idly passing Lucille's grip from one hand to the next, "Alexandra is being handled. We have their full cache of weapons and they know now how fucking stupid they were to attack us. They won't be doing anything like that again and, if they try, we will deal with them."

But Negan's words didn't stop the murmurs; if anything, some grew more agitated.

"That' a crock of shit," the firm declaration silenced the room.

Negan's tightened grip on Lucille was the only outward sign of irritation he allowed himself. Apparently, he either hadn't expected this topic of conversation to come up, or he was not used to being challenged at these meetings. Likely, both were to blame. "Charlie, I've got nothing but respect for you, and I know that you've got more reason than most of us to be pissed."

"I don't want your damned sympathy," the old man got to his feet, "My grandsons are dead. The last of my kin. Not just dead, butchered by those sons of bitches at Alexandria for no goddamned reason. And what have we done about it? Furniture and knick-knacks ain't gonna give me back my boys!"

"Nothing is going to bring back your grandsons," Negan shot back bluntly, but not with any malice. "That's the fact of it. If I thought, for even one damn second, that wiping Alexandria off the face of the earth would make you or any single person here who lost someone at that outpost feel even the slightest bit better, every last man and woman from that community would be dead and on the fences right now."

"But what are we _doing_ about them?" another voice from the crowd.

And another. "What about our rules? If any of us did what they did, they'd be dead for it. They killed our people, why aren't we punishing them?"

"Or at least the iron."

"I heard the prisoner you took isn't even being guarded when he works now! How are we supposed to feel safe in our own home?"

The questions and comments were coming out faster than could rightly be answered, and Negan's frustration was visible. Clearly, this was not how he saw the evening going. And as the crowd's outbursts grew more frequent and energized, Aaron began to fear that either Daryl, himself, or both of them were in serious danger of being branded, if not outright executed, to appease the mob.

But other than keeping her hand on his knee, Beth remained quietly composed in her seat. Until one voice from behind them made a comment about the possibility of a traitor in the community feeding information to Alexandria. Without turning, Beth's voice rang clear over the din, "Say my name."

She might as well have fired a pistol in the air for the silence that consumed the crowd. Even Negan seemed stunned by the hard, determined tone in her voice as she stood and turned to face the room, "There ain't a soul in here who don't know who you're talkin' about. Say my name. And have the guts to say it to my face. If you think I've betrayed us, call me out. Fire's already lit and the iron's still hot. So let's hear it."

No one spoke for several seconds until a woman Aaron didn't know timidly offered, "I don't think anyone's outright accusing you of anything, Doc. It's just…"

"It's just that my husband was one of them. I used to be one of them. And it's hard to trust with all the hurt we're all feelin'," Beth finished for her. "I get that." She looked down and seemed to gather her thoughts and her courage before continuing, "Y'all all know me, but most of ya don't know where I came from or how I got here." She glanced back to Daryl, still on his knees and carefully not looking up, before turning back to the group, "Our home in Georgia was a lot like here. Smaller, but we were buildin' somethin'. And our leader was a lot like Negan. Someone we could trust, someone we knew would lead us through everythin' that was happenin'. And then we were attacked, outta nowhere, by the kind of monsters we fight so hard to keep out of our Sanctuary. Thieves and murderers who wanted what we had and didn't care who they killed to get it. All those people, my friends, all the little ones… And those of us who made it were all split up. For a long time, I thought I'd never see the rest of my family again. And I never thought that they'd become the very sort of people who did to others what'd been done to us. Even after seein' what they done to our friends, our family. Even after trackin' them back to Alexandria and seein' over those walls with my own eyes, I still can't really believe it was people I called family who done this. And it makes my blood boil every time I think that if it weren't for – " Beth cut herself short.

But by now every adult in the Sanctuary was hanging on her every word and were anxious to hear whatever she had stopped herself from saying, with several calls of "Weren't for what?" echoing over the group.

A helpless expression crossed her face as she turned to Negan, "I ain't had a chance to talk with you about this, I'm not sure…"

After a beat, Negan waved her on, "What matters to the Sanctuary gets shared with the _whole _Sanctuary."

Except Aaron had the distinct impression that what Negan _said_ was the exact opposite of what Negan _wanted_. But in front of the whole community, there was nothing he could do but let Beth continue. The room was hers. _And she knows it._ And it suddenly dawned on Aaron, the declaration Beth had made at their first meeting of 'I know how to handle Negan', wasn't about controlling the man himself, but about knowing how to seize control from him. Beth couldn't stop Negan from going after her family, but she could make it very unpopular for him to do so. And Negan's ego couldn't handle the people turning against him. _Whoever controls the mob controls the man_. And right now, either by accident or design (and Aaron wasn't sure he'd ever truly know for certain that Beth hadn't somehow orchestrated this entire turn of events), for the moment, Beth, not Negan, controlled the Sanctuary.

Beth nodded, almost more to herself than to Negan, before declaring aloud, "If it weren't for Hilltop, none of this would have happened."

Aaron hadn't had any cause to bring up the Hilltop community, so he'd had no idea just how passionately the Sanctuary's residents were going to react to that statement. But even the McManus brothers, who normally took even the most intense or violent things in stride, were suddenly clenching both fists and jaws.

"Alexandria was starving, all their crops had failed. They went out looking for help and what they found was Hilltop. Gregory lied. He said that Negan, that all of us, had attacked Hilltop for no reason and promised them that, if they killed Negan and 'rescued' them, he'd give Alexandria what Hilltop had been giving us. And then he pointed them in the direction of the satellite station and said that Negan would be there. I ain't sayin' what Alexandria done was right. That's why Daryl's here, why Aaron's here. They know what Alexandria did was wrong and even though they both know they can't give back what we've lost, they're doin' what they can to make amends."

"But how do you know?" The old man, Charlie, spoke up. "How do you know they haven't sold you and Negan and all the rest of us this line of bullshit so's we'll feel sorry for 'em?"

"Because I asked Daryl, and I trust him with my life. And I asked Aaron, and even though I didn't know him before, he's got no reason to lie to me. They didn't have a chance to check with each other, but they both told me what I'm telling y'all," Beth turned from Charlie to address the group, "But even if I didn't have that, I trust Negan. Negan has led us this far and has gotten all of us, together, through so much. Some of you have been here almost from the start. But those who have been out there, you know what the world can be like nowadays. You know what we're up against. And Negan has always come through for us." The crowd was nodding, murmuring in agreement.

"Negan says there can be a peace between us and Alexandria, and I believe him. Not just because I want there to be, but because it's Negan who says it. That's what it comes down to for me. I miss my old friends, but you don't see me settin' foot in Alexandria. I love my sister, but I ain't goin' to see her, either. And if the day ever comes that Negan says that Alexandria has to go, I'll be right where he needs me to be. Because the Sanctuary is my home. It's my children's home. And I'm Negan."

Aaron didn't have to look around to know that the whole room was right in the palm of Beth's hand. And she had placed them solidly back in Negan's hands. But even as the Savior's leader smoothly rose to his feet and commanded the crowd's attention once more, Aaron knew Beth's point had been made. Negan wasn't the only one who could sway the Sanctuary. Like Dr. Carson, he might be in charge, but Beth knew how things worked and had a pull all her own. And if Negan didn't know it before, he definitely knew it now. When it came to looking out for her family, Beth Dixon was a force to be reckoned with.

* * *

"Do you have any idea how stupid that was?" Rick finally turned on Abraham as they walked together towards the house where Abraham and Sasha lived. He hadn't wanted to confront the man in front of their group, knowing how irascible the former soldier could be when publicly challenged. So Rick had asked Abraham to walk with him after the ginger had slipped into their group's meeting just as Jesus was slipping out. He would have preferred to have this conversation behind closed doors, but their options were limited, given that Sasha and Abraham shared their house with several others in their family (though it was fewer these days, Rosita having moved out when she and Abraham broke things off and Eugene, of course, whose empty bedroom and vacant chair in the kitchen's breakfast nook left a noticeably gaping hole in the occupants' minds). The side yard between theirs and Spencer Monroe's house would have to do.

"Don't you get in my fucking face about this, Rick! I'm doing exactly what we said we needed to do, gathering intel so we can beat this fucker at his own game."

Rick had expected Abraham's anger. And he wasn't wrong, exactly, just going about it the wrong way. Rick made a concerted effort to remain calm, "It's one thing to pour over Aaron's notebooks for clues, to eavesdrop on Saviors, and a whole 'nother thing to risk yours and Daryl's lives. We need our people more than we need information."

Even in the dim light, with the moon half-hidden by clouds on this overcast (but thankfully not rainy) night, he could see Abraham's jaw clench at the mention of Daryl's name. "Wouldn't have been any damn risk if Dixon had played ball."

"What choice did he have?" Rick countered, "He's constantly under threat, being watched, we all are, but him most of all – "

"You think I don't know that? You think I'm some kind of moron? I triple-checked, Rick, there were no guards, no one watching that house. I even checked Daryl for a wire, nothing! There was no goddamned reason why he couldn't take ten fucking seconds to spit out what he'd seen and heard."

"There must have been something, something he knew you missed."

"Oh, I didn't miss it," Abraham disputed, "But you have. Daryl's done. Negan broke him."

Rick was already shaking his head, "Daryl's protecting Maggie, protecting all of us. He's doing what he has to – "

"The only thing he had to do was open his goddamned mouth. But he can't. Or won't." Abraham put his hands up, "Don't defend him, don't even start. Because he didn't just _not_ share what he knows, he went for no damned reason and tattled like a crybaby. That's not protecting, Rick, that's betraying us."

"No," Rick was adamant. "If you think that, you don't know him at all. You don't know what he's done, what he's given up, what he's _lost_…"

"Oh, spare me your river of tears for what Daryl Dixon's lost – we've all lost a few friends along the way and from where I'm standing, that sorry-ass redneck has made out alright. Built himself a whole goddamned following of chumps who hang on his every move like he's the patron saint of the apocalypse or some shit."

"Don't," Rick warned, stepping into Abraham's personal space, "You _don't know_."

"Fine," Abraham dismissed. "Here's what I _do_ know. Everybody breaks. Everyone's got that one thing, whatever it is, that losing it makes them snap like a twig. And whatever Daryl's one thing is, Negan found it. Think about it, Rick, just think for a goddamned minute what _should_ have happened today after Daryl ratted me out. It's like you said, my life was on the line. Daryl's life was on the line, or at least a good chunk of himself, because that's what Negan told you he'd make you do if we fucked around with trying to fight back. So when Daryl spoke up today, he did it fully believing that Negan would splash my brains across your front porch."

"That's the position _you_ put him in," Rick defended with more than a bit of snarkiness leaking bleeding through his tone. "Negan said that Daryl made a deal to guarantee safety and medical care for Maggie and her baby. Maybe he thought your life was worth keeping that deal in place."

"'Negan said', huh? I'm getting sick and tired of hearing about what Negan says. And I'm really fucking sick and tired of hearing you quote him like his words are gospel crapped out of the goddamned Bible itself. His words don't mean shit, Rick! Look at what he's done! Aaron's kid crying himself to sleep every night, scared shitless he's going to lose another parent. Glenn going out of his mind. All of us scrambling for scraps while this fucker lords over us, grinning like a motherfucking clown at the circus. And whatever I might think of Dixon at the moment, I can respect the fact that I know he's tough as nails, which means I also know that, for Negan to break him the way he has – don't fucking argue right now – Daryl must have gone through some kind of torture the likes of which none of us here have ever seen or known. Probably still is. And none of that even comes close to Eugene. A couple of weeks go by and what? Have we all just forgotten? Well, I remember," he whispered in Rick's ear. "Remember, Rick? The sound of bones crunching? The smell of blood choking in your throat? The taste of bile on the back of your tongue every time that barbed bat squelched in what used to be Eugene's face? The stink of sweat and fear, thinking your boy was about to be next?"

Rick's gaze had dropped to the ground. He nodded, "I remember. I'm never going to forget." He looked back up to meet Abraham's eyes, "That's why we have to keep it from happening again. That's what we all agreed to. Now, Negan's given us a deal where we can have Maggie and her baby home in a few months – "

"Oh, Negan's made a deal, that makes everything better. Jesus H. Christ, Rick, when are you going to get it? The _deal_ is that _there is no deal_! The _deal_ is that Negan is going to string us along until he's got enough rope wrapped around that he can hang us all. We have absolutely no proof that Maggie's still alive, just some made-up medical shit and Negan's word that he's taking care of her. And Aaron's letters? Negan could have him stuffed in a hole in the ground, pull him out once a week and put a gun to his head while he dictates every word Aaron puts on paper. And we've all seen Daryl. You can't tell me you expect him to be alive for much longer if things keep going for him the way they have. The _deal_ is that Maggie, Aaron, Daryl – they're all gone. We are never going to get them back. And if you don't open your fucking eyes and face facts, all that's going to happen while you're busy trying to appease Negan, playing nice and making 'deals', is that he's going to squeeze this place dry of whatever useful shit he can get, and then crush our skulls and move the fuck on. Just like he's doing with Hilltop. Just like he's probably done to a dozen other places. And the more we give in and the longer we wait, the easier we make it for him."

Rick was adamant, "You don't want to forget about Eugene? Well, I'm not going to forget about Maggie, or Aaron, or Daryl. They're not gone, not until I see their dead bodies. I'm not giving up on our friends."

"Then maybe it's you that's done."

"What?"

"If you can't lead us out of this shit-storm, then it's time for you to step aside and make room for somebody who will," Abraham declared.

_So, it's like that,_ Rick grit his teeth. "You think you can do better? You tell me, Abraham, what're you gonna do? We've got 73 people, and of those, maybe, _maybe_ a third of them could be decent fighters. Except Negan's got hundreds. And we've got no guns. So I can't wait to hear this grand plan you've got for leading us in some kind of all-out war against him. You want to be in charge? Go ahead, you'll end up ruling over a graveyard."

"And what do you think is going to be any different if we keep doing things your way? Alexandria will still be a graveyard. It'll just take us a little longer to realize we're dead already."

Rick sighed and took a moment before making up his mind. "Give me four weeks."

"Four weeks for what?"

"In four weeks, if we do everything Negan asks, he promised – no, don't interrupt – that he'd start taking additional time off Maggie's being kept away from us. Between Jesus going to check out this Kingdom place and me negotiating with Negan, in four weeks, if we don't have real, actual proof that Maggie's alive and well, we'll do this your way."

Abraham stepped back and offered his hand to seal the deal, "Alright, Rick. Four weeks. And then we're done sitting on our asses, waiting for the sky to fall on Negan's head. Four weeks. And then we kick his ass."

* * *

Spencer's face involuntarily scrunched in disgust as he listened in on Abraham and Rick. Their fault, really, arguing right outside his open bedroom window. And who the hell did they both think they were, making decisions for the rest of them? And not just everyday, run-of-the-mill stuff, but life-and-death choices that would likely drive the Alexandria Safe Zone into the ground, because no way could they win against Negan, and no way would Negan let slide if they attacked him again.

_Mom, Dad, Aiden… this would never have happened if they were still here_, Spencer thought angrily to himself. As far as he was concerned, Rick's leadership was just one bad decision after another. And now this, pretending to play along with the Saviors while planning some secret crazy suicide rebellion… _Well, if that's the way Rick Grimes is going to play it, looks like I'll just need to make my own deal with Negan._

* * *

Carl might not be able to hear what was being said, but it didn't take a genius to figure out that his Dad and Abraham had some kind of secret deal going on. He'd seen them coming up the road from Eric and Aaron's house and then breaking off from the group to talk privately. And, while he couldn't get close enough to eavesdrop, he was able to watch the two of them by hiding around the side of Olivia's house. Whatever was being said, Carl could see things get pretty intense before ending in a handshake. _So there is a plan_, he thought back to Abraham and Tyrese's encouragement from the week before. _Dad just doesn't want me in on it yet. _Carl figured that was fair – one week probably wasn't enough to convince people that he could be serious and hold his own against Negan after getting all their guns taken. And it's not like he meant for that to happen. He knew even when he fired the warning shot that it was a stupid thing to do. Sometimes he felt like he was stuck inside someone else, watching through their eyes as they did something he knew better than to risk. He'd confessed that to Michonne once, who'd laughed and patted him on the back, "Welcome to being a teenager," she'd smirked. Alright, fine, he got it. And he could wait. As long as there was a plan.

* * *

Lily and Liam had gone to bed suspiciously easy, Sunni's melancholy frown had quirked into a half-grin at the mention of a rooftop picnic with her favorite baked treat, and a CD of Alice Russell's soulful melodies had Beth humming quietly along as she kneaded the bread dough before setting it to rise. She was still exhausted but feeling slightly more optimistic, both after talking with Daryl and after 'gently' reminding Negan that he was not the only one who knew how to use words to one's advantage. Heck, with her small stature and being the baby of the family, words were pretty much all she'd had against her brother and sister growing up. Just because she hadn't voiced her opinion much in family meetings at the prison didn't mean she didn't know how to get her way when she needed to. And she was way past tired of having people give her funny looks or quickly looking away every time she walked into a room. For heaven's sake, she wasn't the one who killed those people at the outpost, she'd heard the distress call on the radio and had been part of the group who'd gone to try and help them! Just thinking about it all got her riled up inside all over again and she forced herself to breathe deeply and push it back down. Tonight had gone well and tomorrow was going to be even better, spending the day with her family after getting some much-needed rest.

The quiet knock at the door interrupted her mental pep-talk. And when she opened it, all thoughts of pleasantly winding down the evening were crushed by Negan's presence filling the doorway as he leaned one arm casually against the frame and grinned wolfishly.

"We need to talk."

* * *

**I'm going to go ahead and apologize now – it's going to be at least a week before the next update. Sorry, folks – real life keeps stubbornly intruding on fanfiction-writing time! Is it too late to ask for reviews anyway? :)**


	14. Chapter 14

**Did you miss me? I've really missed all of you! Let's get back to it, shall we?**

* * *

Chapter 14: The Art of the Deal, Part V

Even though he was only slightly taller than average, Negan had a way of filling the space around him, pulling the room's energy and focus until everything around him seemed slight and small by comparison. Beth normally didn't mind – she was always slight and small compared to everyone else. But tonight, it annoyed her, and, in this space, her home, she didn't bother trying to hide it. She offered no greeting, just turned on her heel and moved back to the kitchen counter, putting her hands back into the bowl of bread dough she'd been kneading as if Negan weren't standing in her open doorway.

It threw him off slightly – he and Beth had a surprisingly easy relationship, quick-witted and often innuendo-laden (from him) and sarcastic (from her) quips served like tennis balls between two pros having a friendly sparing session. And even when things weren't so friendly – and they'd had their share of ugly exchanges (he'd never thought of them as fights - just a brutal honesty that only true friends could share) – there were always _words_. Her silent treatment was new and unnerving.

Still, he had too much on his mind to let her knock him off-track entirely. Keeping a wide, toothy smile on his face, he quipped, "I'm going to take the fact that you didn't slam the door in my face as an invitation to come in."

"You can take it however you like," she quipped back, her gaze firmly fixed on her work. It was the kind of reply he might have heard in any of their numerous exchanges, but tonight, there was a weighty edge to her tone. _Tread lightly_.

Negan didn't make it nearly six years into the new world by ignoring warning signs. But he didn't make it this far by letting himself be intimidated by them, either. So he strolled into Beth's apartment as if he'd been as graciously welcomed as he'd expected to be and took a slow turn around the main room. "Nice speech back there. You really know how to work a crowd."

"That's the difference between us, Negan. You think every time someone opens their mouth, they're workin' some kind of angle." She kept her back to him but was keenly aware of every movement as he shifted his weight behind her.

"Well, whatever the fuck it was, it worked. Got everyone calmed right down, got them focused on hating Hilltop instead of Alexandria. Should go a long way towards smoothing things out between your folks and us, assuming they can get their shit together."

Beth didn't respond, letting the silence grow until Negan couldn't help but break it, trying a different tact, "You know, in all the time we've known each other, I don't think I've ever been up here. But it is exactly like I'd expect from you."

After a beat of awkward silence, Beth finally offered him an opening, "Oh?" she asked with disinterest.

"Yes, ma'am," Negan plowed on with increasingly false enthusiasm, "Color everywhere, neat and clean but comfortable, lived in. All the homey touches that just make a person feel like they found an oasis in life's Sahara. Maybe I should get you to come downstairs, bring your magic touch and liven up my dreary little place," he grinned.

"Maybe you should get one of your wives to do it," Beth deadpanned.

"Dammit, Beth, I'm trying to be pleasant. I came all the way up six fucking flights of stairs just to see you."

She snorted, "You rode the elevator and came in off the fire escape. Ain't exactly a grand effort." She finished shaping the bread dough into a ball and covered the bowl with a cloth to let it rise before washing her hands, still stubbornly refusing to turn around.

Negan finally dropped his grin, "Come on, Beth, I need a sounding board. I got too much shit going on, I need you to help me get my mind straight."

"Again, you should go to your wife for that. Or one of them, anyways."

"I can't talk to them, you know I can't. Not about the serious shit. That's not who I am with them." He awkwardly glanced around before finally settling himself heavily on the arm of her couch. "Come on, Doc," he teased gently, "We always talk. You know I gotta come to you to get my head shrunk."

"Not here." Beth pulled a frying pan from the lower cabinet next to the stove and carefully set it on one of the burners. "We talk in my office, or yours, or the conference room, or anywhere else. Not here."

"Well, maybe what I have to say isn't something I want to risk being overheard."

Beth groaned, "Oh, geez, you ain't gonna to propose again, are ya?"

She didn't have to turn to know he was grinning again, "I love it when your southern drawl goes all thick like that and gets the better of you, but no, this isn't a marriage proposal. I learned my lesson last time, believe me."

"Then what do you want?" she sighed deeply, a near begging tone and an unspoken _Get out_! in her voice. Something he'd never heard from her before.

"Are you mad at me?" he asked quietly, genuinely curious.

"World ain't all about you, Negan. No matter how much you want it to be." Her whole frame was tense, he could tell, even just watching her pull a ceramic bowl of fresh eggs off the top of the fridge and begin to carefully wash the shells one by one with carefully measured movements.

He ignored the dig and pressed on, "But you are angry, aren't you? I've never seen you like this – "

Beth whipped around, "Of course I'm angry! I'm angry, Negan, ya happy now? And you know what, I _get_ to be angry! I get to be angry, and tired, and scared, and frustrated, and heartbroken, and anything else I feel like feelin'. Two and a half years I spent tryin' to get my family back together. Two and a half years of worryin' myself sick over my sister, my brother-in-law, Judith and all the other kids I helped look after, Daryl – " she took a deep, shuddering breath and blinked furiously to keep the tears from falling. "Two and half years tryin' to keep hope alive inside me and for what? This? They've ruined everything, and I can't even be properly mad at 'em because they don't _know_ they were ruinin' it. Two and a half years of buildin' a life for myself outta nothin', makin' a home and tryin' to do somethin' useful, be somethin' that matters. And now I finally got everythin' I been fightin' for right in front of me and I can't have any of it. My family's part of somethin' folks around here are never gonna forgive, my sister's sick and she's cut off from everyone who loves her, Daryl's here but I'm still as alone as I've ever been, maybe more. So I get to be angry, Negan, and everything else, too, but mostly angry. And I ain't gotta hide it, either. Because this right here – " she gestured to the space around them both. "This is _mine_. _My_ home where I raise _my_ children and put _my_ head down at night. _My_ space, _my_ sanctuary, where I can feel and be whatever I like without havin' to worry about how it makes anyone else feel. Outside that door I gotta be the Doc that everyone needs, all smilin' and helpful and whatever else folks are expectin'. But these three rooms, they're the one place where I ain't gotta be anythin' but what I am. And you _don't_ get to come in here and tell me I gotta be somethin' else for you. _Not here_."

Beth was seemingly spent, leaning back against the counter and breathing heavily through her nose, letting silence fill the space around them as they both processed her emotional outburst. She hadn't meant to let all that out at all, and definitely not to him, but it was done and there was no going back.

It was several long moments before Negan quietly murmured, not meeting her eyes. "I'm sorry," he choked out. He swallowed to clear his throat before trying again, this time looking up at her, "Beth, I'm sorry."

"You ain't got to be sorry," she grumbled. "Well, not for this, anyhow."

"I'm not apologizing for anything I've done," Negan acknowledged. "I'm just… I'm sorry that all this is hurting you. I'm sorry you're in the middle of all this shit."

She nodded, accepting his sympathies. If there was one thing she could genuinely say she liked about Negan, it was that they were always honest with each other. So if he said he was sorry, she knew he meant it.

He let the silence stretch again before asking, seemingly out of the blue, "Do you remember what you said to me the last time I proposed to you?"

"Oh, God, this _is_ another marriage proposal," she groaned.

"No," he reaffirmed. "I'm just asking if you remember what you said."

"Is this really what you wanted to talk about?" she hedged, hoping to cut off wherever this train of thought was heading.

"Do you remember?" he pressed.

"I remember sayin' no."

"Come on, Beth, humor me. What did you say?"

She sighed, then looked him straight in the eye, letting him know that she wasn't going to shy away from it, "I said that, even if I didn't already have someone out there, I would never even think of marryin' a hypocrite. What I want and need is somethin' real, and you can't even be real with yourself, much less anyone else. I said that my Daddy taught me that people tend to judge in others what they most hate about themselves. You make rules not because they're good for folks, but because they're the things you wish you hadn't done. You tell people they gotta be honest because you were a liar. You burn people's faces off for cheatin' because you betrayed your Lucille. And you can't stand, more than anythin' else, when people are cowards or don't step up and do their part, because when she needed you most, you weren't there. And maybe I could be alright with all that if you were usin' your rules to change yourself, but you don't. You say it's all about bein' fair and respectful and civilized, but you play favorites. Not everyone has to live by your rules if they're willin' to do your dirty work, build up your little world with you at the center. Well, I ain't here to sing your praises and I sure as heck ain't gonna spend the rest of my life bein' some poor, pitiful substitute for your dead wife. You might think you're leadin' the Saviors, but I think you're the one who needs savin' most of all."

Negan tipped his head slightly with a nod, "So I guess that means you do remember."

That finally drew a slight chuckle out of Beth and a slight relaxing of her posture, which he took as a good sign.

"No one talks to me like that," there was no malice or threat in his words, just a rueful acknowledgement. "But you stripped me down, flayed me open for the world to see. The next day you carried on like nothing had happened. But I couldn't stop thinking about it, about how right you were about me, about all of this," he spread his arms wide, gesturing metaphorically to the world he'd built. "Took a while for me to really let it all sink in, but I've tried to change, to make good changes here. Got everyone into their own places, stopped letting my top dogs take without paying. Having long, honest conversations with each of my wives about whether they really wanted to be where they were, giving them the space to move on and have lives of their own without fearing what I'd do. None of that would have happened if it weren't for you."

"You don't know that," Beth allowed. "I like to think you would've seen your way to makin' things better here on your own, eventually."

Negan shook his head, "I'm stubborn as shit, woman. Hard truth's gotta smack me square in the face before I even think of changing, and I'll still be slow to do it. My Lucille learned that the hard way, bore the brunt of so many of my stupid choices. You remind me a lot of her. Don't look a damn bit like her, mind you, but that orphan Annie, "the sun'll come out tomorrow" optimism you carry around, and the grit and determination you keep underneath it all to make it happen… I mean it, this place would not be what it is if it weren't for you. The Sanctuary, the Saviors, they're better because of you. Stronger, more solid, because of you."

He stood and stepped towards her, "It's why I need you. You're one of the only people in the world whose opinion I actually give a flying fuck about. Hell, you're one of the few people whose _life_ I actually care about. My kids, wives, couple of others I'd miss if they were gone."

Beth narrowed her eyes, "You want me to call you on your crap now or wait until you've finished?" Negan raised his eyebrows and allowed a bit of his trademark grin to creep back into his expression. She continued, "Not two hours ago, Charlie Preston let a little of his grief show and you were near two seconds away from swinging Lucille at him for it. You might have changed a lot of things around here for the better, but one thing you haven't, and probably never will, change about yourself, is that you can't stand it if everyone around ya doesn't either love or fear you."

"Why not both?" he quickly cut in with a smile, but only half-joking.

Beth rolled her eyes, "Point is, you care very much about everyone else. Their lives, maybe not so much, but their opinions? You care a whole heck of a lot what they think of you."

"Is that really what you think of me?" he got quiet, and serious, again.

Beth paused a moment to give the question the thinking it deserved. "I think what I always thought of you. You're a decent person doin' the best ya can." She took a breath and then added with a grin of her own, "But you're never gonna be the marryin' type so long as you're married to that bat and everything she stands for."

Negan grinned in return, "That's a head-shrinking session for another time. I should go."

"Thought you came up here to talk."

"I did. But you're right, this is your space."

"You still gonna need to talk to me?"

"Got no one else I trust the way I trust you."

Beth nodded, "Well, you're already here. And you ain't interruptin' my day off tomorrow. And judgin' by the number I washed," she gestured to the collection of brown and white eggs on the counter behind her, "I was already plannin' on invitin' you to join me for dinner anyhow. Or whatever it is you call it when you're eatin' close to midnight."

"You're making eggs for dinner?"

Beth leveled a withering look in his direction, "You'll eat 'em and you'll like 'em."

His grin returned to full-fledged Cheshire-cat status, "Yes, ma'am," he saluted as she turned and busied herself with heating the stove and reaching for a ceramic jar of saved bacon grease she kept on the counter.

"No, come on now, if we're going to have eggs for dinner, we should at least have some real bacon with it," Negan reached the fridge before Beth could stop him from seeing its nearly-bare status. She pushed past him and closed the appliance door.

"Bacon grease has plenty of flavor. And as late as it is, this is more of a midnight snack than a full-on dinner anyhow."

Negan ignored her and pressed on, "I'm guessing that if I poked around in those cabinets – "

" – that you'd lose a few fingers? 'Cause that's what I'd imagine happenin'," Beth warned. "And don't go slammin' things or stompin' around either. If you make this bread dough fall, you'll have one very upset seven-year-old that no amount of grinnin' will make feel better."

"So that's a yes to your pantry being as empty as your fridge. Making this pretty much the last loaf of bread you'll be baking for a while, given the potential crop shortage."

"Probably," Beth acknowledged. "But sometimes things are even more special because you might never have them again." She turned back to the stove, practiced movements getting eggs cracked and sizzling in the pan in fluid motions as Negan mused.

"You should be making more points, not only as a doctor, everyone knows you basically run that hospital wing. Literally life and death, plus inventory, all those medicines you grow and prep, the old folks, keeping track of everyone's day-to-day health, no one else has that kind of responsibility hanging over their shoulders. Upping your pay – "

"Is not the answer. We just talked about this, you can't be breakin' your own rules or playin' favorites. My job is just as important as everybody else's, and I make what's fair, just like everybody else." She turned around, spatula in hand, "And the next man who tells me I need to be acceptin' his help 'cause I can't look after me and mine is gonna end up bein' tossed off that sixth-floor fire escape."

"Yes, ma'am," after a beat, "Well, at least you set the example for all the potential thieves in this place."

"Happy to help," she retorted with a healthy dose of sarcasm. "Now, are you ever gonna get to what you actually came up here for, or are we gonna keep dancin' around it 'til the sun comes up? 'Cause I gotta tell ya, I really need some sleep tonight."

Negan nodded to himself and settled in one of the hardback chairs at her kitchen table after fetching two glasses of water and retrieving Lucille; having her in his hands generally calmed his thoughts, and he needed to be clear-headed for this.

Without turning as she dished up the fried eggs onto two plates, Beth warned, "If that darned bat so much as puts one scratch on my good table, I'm'a cut all the barbs off and replace 'em with blinkin' Christmas lights."

Without a word, Negan wisely braced Lucille between his knees as Beth served their midnight snack and joined him at the table.

"So," Beth started, "what do ya need from me that's so darned important?"

"Help. Favors. Advice. For you to be my own personal, much better looking, Jiminy Cricket."

"I do all that already. Which brings me back to my original complaint, why here?"

Negan was fully serious as he leaned in, "I really can't risk anyone else overhearing. If I'm right, you and I could both get burned."

* * *

Sasha threw the covers aside in frustration and plodded back downstairs. Clearly, when it came to calling it a night, Abraham's idea of "in a minute" was not the same as hers.

She found him at the kitchen table, standing over a map with an intense look on his face. As she got closer, she could see it was different from the map their group used to plot out familiar locations. This one was in much better shape, and, though it was marked with the same places as the other one, this map also had additional marks penciled in as well.

"I doubled back to Eric's after Rick finished ripping me a new one, got him to pull out his old lobbying records and show me where those geothermal plant sites were," Abraham didn't bother looking up from his work. "And here's about as close as I can figure from where we got stopped by that group of Saviors back when we were trying to move the herd from the quarry. Remember them?"

Sasha nodded, "First time we heard the name 'Negan'."

"Didn't think much of 'em at the time. 'Specially after Daryl wiped the sons of bitches out with that RPG. Just another band of marauders, looking to make a quick score."

She closed the distance between them and put her hands on his arm and shoulder, "Well, we hadn't met Jesus yet. Didn't know about Hilltop or any of it."

Abraham nodded, "I'm figuring they had to come from somewhere close to that spot, either another out of an outpost we don't know about, or maybe his main compound. See, it's not that far from these three," he gestured to several locations of either finished or proposed geothermal factory sites.

"So why not mark all this on the other map? We keeping secrets from our already-secret group?" Sasha kept her tone lightly teasing, but inside she was growing deeply concerned. Their relationship might be relatively new, but her feelings for him were strong. And she didn't want to lose him to a stupid, reckless suicide mission of all things.

"Can't hurt to have a back-up," his excuse fell flat even to her trusting mindset. And it must have shown in her eyes when he glanced at her, because he backpeddled, "Rick wants to wait, see if Negan comes through with proof of life for Maggie in the next few weeks. I said I'd give him that."

"So what's all this, then?"

"Boy Scout's motto, darlin'. Just being prepared."

* * *

Beth was young, a lot younger than most people around the Sanctuary and its outposts assumed, but she had grown up faster than most. She matched Negan's serious tone, "What's goin' on?"

"I need to know exactly what Daryl and Aaron have told you about Hilltop, the outpost, all of it."

"Why do you need to know? And why not ask them yourself?"

"They'll be honest, more open with you."

"Still doesn't answer why you need to know." Beth dropped an ultimatum, "You're sittin' at my table, eatin' my food, and askin' for my help. Be completely honest and bring me in all the way, or don't bother."

Negan did her the respect of not hesitating, "I, no, _we_ need to know if Alexandria found the satellite outpost on their own or if Hilltop showed it to them."

Beth's brow furrowed as she recalled the conversation, "The way Daryl described it, it sounded like Hilltop suggested the outpost. Said you'd be there, and the only way they'd share food is if you were gone and they didn't have us comin' to take from 'em anymore. I didn't ask outright who found the outpost first. Either way, I meant what I said at the meetin' tonight, none of this would have happened if it weren't for Hilltop tryin' to get out of what they done instead of just ownin' up and livin' by the rules. Does it really matter which group saw the satellite station first?"

"It does," Negan replied gravely, "because Hilltop shouldn't have known it existed. They don't venture out, never have. And we stopped sharing outpost locations with them the day they fucked us over. But even if they've somehow gotten adventurous and started exploring on their own, they should've had no reason to connect that relay station to us."

"Unless a Savior told them," Beth finished following his line of logic. "You think there's a traitor, here. One of us went to Hilltop and told them about the satellite station, knowing they weren't well-armed enough to stop a major attack, and said you'd be there, and then Hilltop pointed it out to Alexandria."

"Or they knew I wouldn't be there and sent Rick and company in their direction knowing they _wouldn't_ hit their target but _would_ seriously piss me off."

"You think it was Simon?" Beth posited.

"Maybe. Hope not, kinda fond of the fucker," Negan absently scraped his fork across his plate, drawing aimless designs in the remaining egg yolk, "Thought's definitely crossed my mind. He's in the best position. But there are others. Other outpost leaders close to Hilltop. Might not even be someone in charge of anything. Fact is, all those changes I made, made things better for a lot of people. But not everyone. Some folks, those 'favorites' you keep harping on, they lost a lot of perks along the way. And it looks like some of them haven't adjusted as well as I'd thought. Couple of years on, they're getting a bit nostalgic for the old way of doing things. And now they're looking for a change in leadership to make that happen."

"I ain't sayin' you're wrong, someone from here bein' behind this makes more sense to me than Gregory just up and deciding one day to grow a spine and try actual leadin' for once," Beth was still a bit skeptical. "But if they're trying to kill ya, they got a funny way of going about it. Get Hilltop to get Alexandria to attack an outpost you're almost never at?"

Negan grinned wryly, "You weren't a fan of _The Dark Knight_, were you? Shame, fucking brilliant masterpiece of a movie. You can't just kill the hero. You have to kill the idea of him first, bring him down to your level. That way, when you do get around to killing him, the people don't fight you on it. You said it yourself, I work very hard to make sure that everyone either loves or fears me. And around here, it's more love than fear. Someone comes around and puts a knife in my back, literal or otherwise, and the people who love me are going to be pissed. But if folks are dying on my watch, and it looks like I can't get a handle on it, those same people are going to start looking for a leader who will do whatever it takes to make them feel safe."

"Might not even be plannin' to kill you if they think they can get you to change your ways, go back to how things were before. Or get you to step down and let someone else be in charge."

Negan snorted derisively, "You really see me letting someone else take what's mine? This place was a shell of a shithole, but I saw what it could be. I built it from the ground up, might not have been my hands doing all the heavy lifting, but it was my idea that got us here. No fucking way I'm going to stand back and _let_ someone steal it out from under me."

"So you'll go back to the way things were," Beth assumed with a heavy heart.

"No."

She glanced up from her empty plate to meet his intense gaze.

"Turns out you were right. What I had going here at first was no way to keep things going. Damned if that realization doesn't grate my nerves from time to time. But no, the way things are now is the way they ought to be, for the most part. If someone's trying to take that away, it's going to take more than me to stop them."

"What do you need me to do?"

"First off, I could be off-base here. Alexandria could be every bit as bad as everyone downstairs thinks they are. After all, two and a half years is a long time, they lived a very different life from you. I'm working on Rick, warming him up to have some critical conversations. But I need you keeping an ear out here, need you to push Daryl and Aaron so we have a better idea of what really went down. Did you mean what you said tonight, are you Negan?"

Beth drew a breath, "I love my family. I ain't come all this way just to give up on 'em, but I ain't built all I have here just to watch someone tear it down. It ain't about sides for me, I want us all workin' and makin' it together and I think we can. However much the world out there changed them, I just can't see Maggie, Glenn, and all the rest becomin' monsters. Somethin' pushed them, and whether it's just Hilltop or somethin' more, I want it gone, and I ain't afraid to do my part."

"I said it before and I'll say it again, I love your optimism. We could all use a healthy dose of it, but you need a dose of reality, too. People have been looking out for #1 since the caveman days, or Adam and Eve munching on that apple, depending on your worldview. You saw that tonight with our resident thief. It was never about the shoes, it was bout having the best, about yours being better than what everyone else's. And that's the way of it everywhere. I'm not giving up what's mine, not to Hilltop, not to Alexandria, not to some jumped-up traitor who's stupid enough to think he can challenge me in my own backyard."

"By that way of thinkin', how can you trust that I ain't just out to get what's mine no matter what it costs you?" Beth challenged.

"Actually, I'm trusting that you are. It's just that what you want and what I want go hand in hand. You said it yourself, you want your family safe, you want everyone getting along, but mostly, you want to matter. Now, I don't know why you didn't feel like you counted for something before you came here or even now, when anyone with two brain cells left to rub together can tell you're one of the most important people here, that the Saviors don't work without you. That's probably a conversation best had with several glasses of your choice of alcohol. But you can have all the things you want with me in charge. And you're not guaranteed any of it if I'm not. I'm not a good man, Beth, I know that. Decent, maybe, if you say so. But not good. Definitely not above bargaining, wheelin' and dealin' under the table to get what I need. And what I need is the one person I'm certain isn't trying to fuck me over to be willing to fuck over anyone else in my path so I can nip this shit in the bud. I need you using all your friendly smiles and sweet bedside manner to keep everyone trusting you so they'll share all their dirty secrets with you, and then I need you sharing them with me. Even if it means that you're putting someone you've made friends with on the business end of Lucille. You scratch my back, I scratch yours. I know it goes against your nature, being the genuinely trusting and glass-half-full person that you are. But do this for me, help me keep what's mine, and I'll give you whatever you want."

"Moonshine."

"Beg pardon?"

Beth explained, "You asked about my choice of alcohol. I do my best confessing over moonshine. First drink I ever had. First time I knew I felt somethin' more than just knowin' and likin' a person for Daryl was sittin' on a back porch talkin' over Georgia moonshine."

Negan chuckled, "Well, aren't you just full of surprises, Beth Dixon."

Beth got serious again, "I'll help you. Already said I would, you didn't have go on speechifyin'. But I'm kinda glad you did, lost sleepin' time aside. Took you more than two years to let what I said after you proposin' really sink in, but you have. So think of this as the next big step towards you bein' a decent human being. I'm gonna keep your secrets and I'm gonna help you, and I ain't gonna ask for anything in return, even though you've left all kinds of special favors wide open. I'm gonna help you because it's what's best for everyone. 'Cause I want you to see that not everyone is out for #1 and that good things can come your way without you knocking everyone down to get them first."

"If it makes you feel better to treat this like some kind of grand social experiment, you go right on ahead. Just don't forget what's at stake. Now, there is one more, teenie-tiny little favor I need from you. I need to borrow Daryl."

"I can't tell you what to do with your prisoner," Beth responded quietly.

"I really do appreciate how hard it is for you," Negan recognized. "Honestly, with someone as truly amazing as you waiting in the wings, it never dawned on me that Daryl would choose his loyalty to Rick Grimes over even a snowflake's chance in Hell of getting to be with you."

"And like I told you back then, you don't know Daryl like I do. It never dawned on me that he'd choose any other way. He's always put everyone else's needs above his own. He already works for you sunup to sundown. What else do you need him for that you think you gotta ask me about it?"

"A call came over the radio from the Lykins farm. All this shit weather has put them behind, done some damage to their livestock fencing. With Nicole preggers and their oldest gone to Monticello to help them improve their food storage techniques, they need some extra help."

"And you're not talking about a day trip," Beth finally surmised.

"A week, tops. They've got some friends coming in from Archer's Point but I want us doing our fair share, given all we get from trading with them."

Beth nodded decisively, "Well, then, Daryl should definitely go work at Caiman and Nicole's farm. And the kids and I will go with him."

"Now, come on, that's not what I meant and you know it," Negan leaned back from the table, balancing the chair on the back two legs.

Beth raised an eyebrow, "So, when you asked me for a favor, what you wanted was for me to tell you it's okay to break your promise to me? You know, the one where you, being the 'man of your word' that you are swore, not two weeks ago, that I'd get to see Daryl every day?"

"This is a special circumstance. And it's only for a few days. And he'll probably enjoy himself, getting away from everyone staring and pointing fingers. You know Nicole's going to mother the shit out of him even with Dwight keeping an eye on things."

"Oh, Dwight's going too, this just gets better and better," Beth grumbled, her frown deepening.

"I don't know what kind of bee crawled up your butt when it comes to Dwighty-boy…" Negan mused.

"What, because he struts around like darned peacock, takin' pleasure in shoving Daryl down in the dirt any chance he gets, wearin' _my_ angel wings on his back while he does it? Seein' as how I ain't ever treated him anything less than civil, I don't see how it's any business of yours if I decide not to like him. And don't go focusin' on anything other than the fact that you are sittin' here trying to get my permission to break your word and have me be okay with it."

She paused for a moment to get her emotions in check before continuing calmly, "The way I see it, the answer is simple. Daryl and I both go to the Lykins farm, and while he's working on whatever it is they need, I can be checking on Nicole and everyone else, not to mention all the farm animals. I was gonna have to go out there in the next month or so, so this works out for everyone. And unless you can give me an amazing reason why not, that's what we're gonna do."

Negan considered for a moment before finally responding, "I don't know if all we're dealing with is going to come down to a fight or not, but if it does, heaven help the idiot who tries to stand up to you."

* * *

Tim groggily fumbled under his pillow until he found the wind-up alarm clock and sleepily managed to shut it off. He'd stayed awake for a while after Mr. Negan had left last night, thinking about what he'd overheard and, mostly, how sad his Mom was. Ever since even before she'd said she'd be their Mom, Beth had told him and Sunni stories about Daryl Dixon, how they had become friends and how much he had taught her and (even though she never exactly said the words) how much she missed him. When she'd sat them down one night a couple of months ago and said that he'd been found, Tim thought she'd be really happy. But she wasn't – it was complicated, she had said, and things might get difficult for a while, but they were family and it was all going to work out. At the time, Tim hadn't worried over it too much – Mom said it was going to be fine, so it was. And anyway, he was turning ten and changing classes and could finally start working on his count (as if his Mom hadn't already taught him how to put down walkers _ages_ ago!), and there were books to read and a new class with new friends to make and shopping and chores and twins to help potty-train...

Except it wasn't fine. Daryl was there now, but he wasn't, not really. And his Mom was busier and sadder and more worried than ever. Daryl was supposed to fix all that. Finding Daryl Dixon was supposed to make things better, not worse. And now Mr. Negan was asking his Mom for even more, helping with his secrets. And since he'd been eavesdropping and wasn't supposed to even know about it, Tim wasn't sure how, or if, he could help.

But he had figured there was one thing he could do. So he got up extra-early today. Not too much, just a few minutes. But enough that, by the time he got dressed, ran a brush through his wavy hair to tame the fuzziness after a night of tossing and turning, grabbed his Mom's bow and quiver for practice with Daryl, and slipped past his Mom, still sleeping soundly on her bed in the front room of their apartment, he was able to make it down to the hallway near Daryl's cell before Dwight came to unlock the door and give Daryl his orders for the day.

Tim heard Dwight coming before he saw him, heavy boots thudding on concrete. Tim was glad his Mom had taught him, as Daryl had taught her, how to pick up his feet so he could move noiselessly on any ground. When Dwight came around the corner, one hand scrubbing the sleep from his face and an unlit cigarette in the other, Tim took a deep breath to steady his nerves before stepping forward.

"Mr. Anders?" he asked softly, both because even a low murmur seemed to echo off the cinder block walls in the early morning silence and because, even though he knew perfectly well that the scars on Dwight's face weren't anything to be afraid of, they, and the man bearing them, were still plenty intimidating.

Dwight stopped short, clearly startled. "The hell are you doing here, kid?"

"I want to buy that vest from you," Tim pointed to Daryl's leather vest with the fraying angel wings that Dwight had claimed for himself.

Dwight scoffed, "It ain't for sale, now get lost." He started to push past the boy.

But if it were," Tim persisted, "How much would you charge for it?"

Dwight turned, the scarred flesh on his face shiny in the flickering florescent lighting, "You want it, kid? 1000 points," he sneered.

Tim did enough shopping with his Mom to know that there was nothing in all the Sanctuary, at least outside the armory, that cost even half that much. But instead of calling Dwight out on his unreasonable rate, he kept his voice calm and simply pointed out, "It's got a hole in it," gesturing with the bow to the bullet hole that Dwight himself had put in the vest shooting Daryl.

Dwight glared for a second before returning, "Alright, fine. 900 points. Now scram. I got better things to do."

Tim wisely stepped aside and let Dwight pass before turning to leave by another exit so he could meet up with Daryl to walk the fences. 900 points – there was only one way to have that many points at once, but Tim was okay with not keeping his coming-of-age earnings for himself. He'd be fine if he never touched a gun again, not after… But his Mom did everything – saved him and Sunni, taught them how to hunt and hide and move in the woods where no one could find them, how to _make it _when no one else would think they could. And she took care of them, gave them a home and, even though she never said anything about it, Tim knew she sometimes worked extra shifts so they'd all have what they needed. She should get to be happy, and if Daryl wasn't going to be able to give it to her, then maybe Tim could at least give her this. His Mom could keep Mr. Negan's secrets – getting her wings back was going to be his.

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**So happy to be back and to get the momentum going on this story again! As always, reviews (kind or otherwise) are greatly appreciated!**


	15. Chapter 15

**First we go almost a month with no updates and now there's two chapters in one week... what kind of craziness is this?**

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Chapter 15: Red Sky at Night… Pt. I

Beth rifled through the cabinet in the largest of the doctor's offices with a flurry of barely-restrained energy as she reeled off, "Inventory's good and the green house'll be okay except for waterin', but Aaron's gonna do that – I worked it out with Jeffery – and I've got the nurses' schedule reworked so that you'll always have an assistant and I sent notes out with runners to the folks who were plannin' to come see me this week for check-ups so there shouldn't be anyone extra added to your plate unless it's an emergency, but, of course, you'll know how to handle that."

She finally turned around, slightly out of breath, to see Emmett Carson watching her from his seat on the cushioned stool with a raised eyebrow and a bemused smile, "It's not the first time you've made rounds at an outpost and, oddly enough, both I and the medical unit survived without you."

Beth could feel her cheeks flame up in embarrassment, "I know, Dr. Carson, I'm bein' a bit ridiculous, I suppose. Negan springing this trip on me early has put me all off-balance. I just don't want you to be inconvenienced."

"You know, from what I understood, Negan was only sending a work detail. if you're not prepared, you don't have to make this trip."

Beth sighed, "I do know. But I was already gonna need to go out there mid-April, what with Nicole comin' into her last trimester and all the spring births that come with livestock. Goin' now saves on fuel and I don't have to listen to Negan naggin' me about not havin' any kind of security on the road."

Carson shrugged, "Well, then, you should go and not worry about anything here. This place was running before you got here and I'm pretty sure I can keep it running for a week while you're gone."

Beth struggled to keep her bristling emotions hidden. She knew he didn't mean it to be anything other than reassuring, but his comments dug up her old feelings of uselessness, of being a burden to all the far-more-capable adults around her. Instead, she covered with a grin and a quick quip, "Nice to know I'm needed."

Carson chuckled good-naturedly, "Please, you know you're the favorite around here. Now get going, you're holding up your own trip. Whatever else pops into that head of yours can wait until you get back."

Beth nodded and grabbed the backpack she'd filled with medical supplies. She'd almost made it to the door when she remembered, "Actually, there is one thing. I was gonna see to it myself but I don't want it to wait… there was a couple at the last meetin', I ain't sure of their names, I think they just came in a couple of months ago. The man is tall, brown-hair, light-skinned, and his wife more average, real thin, black hair, more of an olive complexion… sound familiar at all?"

Dr. Carson pondered a moment, "Could be the Lassiter's. They came in right around the first of the year. Craig and Ruby, I think. They've got a son, too, eight or nine years old, Isaac? Or maybe Isaiah? Why do you ask?"

Beth frowned, "At the meetin', I noticed the woman, Ruby, she seemed to be in pain, arms wrapped around her belly and hunched over, real tense-like. And her husband had his hands on her like he was supposed to be comfortin', but somethin' was just… off. I meant to say somethin' to her once the meetin' ended, but I forgot. I just want to make sure she's okay."

Carson tipped his head, considering, "If she were really hurting, I'm sure she would have come down here by now."

"Maybe, bein' new to the Sanctuary and all, they don't realize they ain't gotta pay to see a doctor."

"It's possible. I'll look for them at lunch and, if nothing else, send a runner with a message that I need to follow up with her. It's probably nothing, but as it matters this much to you, I promise I'll look into it, okay?"

Beth smiled in relief, "Thanks, Dr. Carson, see you in a week!" she called out over her shoulder as she hurried to get her children organized in the van heading to the Lykins' farm.

* * *

Emmett Carson kept his pace deliberately casual as he worked his way to a rarely-used hallway. Even in the poor lighting, he could tell the closed-in space was already occupied, so he didn't see any reason not to get right to the point, "Beth Dixon is getting suspicious, took notice of that woman. She'd have had her in an exam room today if she weren't already on her way to an outpost."

"What does she think is going on?"

"She's not sure, only that the woman seemed hurt the other night, wants to know why. Whatever it is you're planning, you'd better make it quick. I thought you'd have done whatever it is you're going to do already."

"We would have, if Negan hadn't taken his sweet time getting around to Alexandria. None of this works if there isn't someone else to blame it on. And now, we have the perfect patsy."

"Beth?" Carson was incredulous. "People love her, you saw them the other night. Even when they want to be suspicious of her, they can't help falling all over themselves once she opens her goddamned mouth."

"Leave that to us. How long will she be gone?"

"Few days, a week at most."

We'll have everything in place before she comes back. Once we're ready, the woman will do her part whether she wants to – "

Carson waved him off, "No, I already told you, I don't want to know. I did what you asked, I got them in through the medical screening and into the Sanctuary without anyone asking questions. Everything else, I'm hands-off. That was the deal."

The man nodded, his face still in shadow, "Agreed. You did your part, and when Negan's gone and we're in charge, things will go back to the way they were, the way they should be. And Beth Dixon is no longer a part of that picture."

* * *

Daryl paused shoveling just long enough to wipe the sweat from his brow, using the moment to take a lingering glance across the open pasture to where Beth was helping Nicole Lykins hang bed-sheets on the clotheslines to dry in the sun while several smaller children ran among them, their laughter carrying on the pleasant spring breeze. The weather alone made working here infinitely better than anything he'd done in the last few weeks. The view and the company weren't anything to sneeze at, either.

The ride over could have been better. Being forced to stay on his knees in the van's cargo-hold, jammed among overstuffed duffel bags with Dwight glaring at him from his perch atop a stack of empty crates, while Beth drove and her (their?) kids chattering away in the front and middle seats.

Watching them interact had made the short but uncomfortable ride more bearable. Daryl knew Tim pretty well by now after their daily walker-killing sessions, but this was the closest he'd come to Beth's daughters and younger son. Aside from her green eyes, it would be hard to imagine any other mother for the older girl. Sunni's blonde hair was nearly the same shade as Beth's, split into matching pigtails that barely brushed her shoulders, and their faces were similarly-shaped – same small nose balanced neatly between rounded cheek bones, same determined chin. But where Beth had always been petite, Sunni was, even seated, clearly tall for her age and lanky, as if in the midst of another growth spurt. Daryl guessed that she'd be taller than Beth before she hit her tenth birthday.

But it was the twins who kept drawing his eye. He shouldn't discriminate – Beth made it clear that she didn't – but these two were _her_ kids, the ones she'd actually carried inside her belly. And Daryl couldn't help but watch them for that reason alone. He'd thought they'd look more alike, being twins and all, but they were clearly not identical. The boy, Liam, had soft brown hair that curled at the ends and Beth's wide blue eyes and pale skin. The girl, Lily, was also pale, but that's about all Daryl could see that was like her brother. Straight strawberry-blonde hair framed her heart-shaped face from which her bright green eyes stood out strikingly. Maybe if they'd had the same temperament, he might have seen more connections between the pair, but Beth was right, they were as different as could be, Lily all but demanding to be the center of attention with constant babble and an insatiable need to crawl on every surface of the van, while Liam sat quietly in his seat, his index finger in his mouth and the other hand gripping a stuffed lion by the tail, which he absently rubbed under his nose as he watched his sister's antics.

Negan had accompanied the group as well, but not in the van. He rode ahead on a Victory Kingpin 8-ball that made Daryl keenly aware how much he missed riding his – or any – motorcycle. But beyond making sure the group got through the Lykins' reinforced steel and barbed-wire gates and a brief but obviously friendly exchange with the farm-owning couple, Negan had left for parts unknown.

Even just a cursory glance around made it clear to Daryl why Beth had been drawn to this place. It was easy to draw parallels between this and her childhood home: the open fields of the working farm, the large home and barns, all surrounded by distant woods, even a small pond towards the southern end of the property. There were differences, too, like the fencing being far more extensive and obviously reinforced to reflect the dangers of herds of walking dead coming into close proximity with the farm's sheep, cows, and other livestock. The house was much larger and more modern with rooftop solar panels mounted between the several brick chimneys and, while inviting and comfortable, could still be barricaded at a moment's notice, as could the three massive barns spaced out over the central field surrounding the home, which itself was on a sizeable hill, affording whoever was in the rooftop watchtower a full 360 degree view of the entire property. But once one accepted the security measures as necessary facts of the world they now lived in, the farm was highly appealing to someone who had grown up with a quiet country life and wanted nothing more than to sit on the porch on a quiet night, listening to crickets and counting stars, as Beth had once told him was her favorite way to fall asleep as a child.

But if the rural landscape and easy access to the woods Daryl loved and missed so much were what appealed most to him, it was nothing to the way Beth was so clearly drawn to the people who lived here. Caiman and Nicole Lykins were a middle-aged couple who had a visibly comfortable and close relationship with one another and their children and, while Daryl had never known Beth's mother, he could easily imagine that their family mirrored Beth's own when growing up. Caiman certainly shared many traits Daryl had come to associate with Hershel – faithful and God-fearing without being overly pushy about religion to others, respected and authoritative without demanding it. He was more energetic, more enthusiastic in his interactions than Hershel had been, but every bit as sincere in his welcoming everyone to the farm with hearty handshakes (and back-slapping hugs for both Negan and Beth) and being genuinely glad for their arrival. And his wife, Nicole, was every bit as welcoming, and it didn't take long to realize that, while she might not be as openly excitable as her husband, she was very strong-willed in her own right.

As she greeted everyone, she'd walked right up to Daryl and pulled at the sleeve of his sweatshirt, "Negan, what is this?" And without bothering to wait for the man's response, she turned directly to Daryl, "Is this something you choose to wear, or something _he_ makes you wear?"

Daryl hadn't been told whether he should act with these people as he did at Alexandria, making no eye contact or any other kind of communication, or behave as he was made to with the Saviors, obediently following every order and speaking when spoken to. He settled for something in between, not raising his head but honestly answering, "It's what I got to wear."

Negan tried to interject at that point, "He's from Alexandria, Nicki, and while he is here to work and won't give you the slightest bit of trouble, he is still a prisoner."

But Nicole was already shaking her head, "Not here he isn't. You're welcome to keep your rules at the Sanctuary and we will keep our rules here, and here, we don't have prisoners, we have guests. And guests wear regular clothes and are treated like regular people. Sawyer!" she suddenly called back to one of the children hovering a few feet from the group, "Sweetie, radio the Elmore's and ask Kevin to bring a couple extra sets of clothes for Daryl to borrow while he's here. I'm sure they haven't gotten on the road yet," she muttered the last bit to herself before turning back to Negan, "And you know I don't like it when you call me 'Nicki', just like you knew when you brought him here that we weren't about to go treating a member of Beth's family like he isn't just as welcome here as she is."

And she, and everyone else, had made good on that sentiment. Daryl was immediately made to feel an equal part of the group as they sat down to a hearty, home-cooked breakfast at the picnic tables off the back porch, waiting for the Lykins' friends from a nearby community to arrive so they could start working on repairing a section of pasture fencing that had been washed out by the recent rains. But when everyone was there and well-fed and on their way to the field, he'd been kindly but firmly stopped by both Caiman and Nicole, who insisted that he take as long as he like in getting cleaned up and changed into the clean jeans and t-shirt they offered. With Beth discretely nodding from behind their backs, Daryl had taken them at their word, using their downstairs bathroom to scrub at the layers of filth and grime until he was cleaner than he'd been in more than a month before hurrying to join the group already working in the field, where he'd been easily accepted as if he'd always belonged.

Rather than take time to marvel at his once-again rapid-fire change of circumstances, Daryl focused his attention on Beth, who moved and spoke with the family here with an ease he'd never seen in her before. Even at the prison, with her own flesh and blood, she'd always seemed somehow set apart, shy and reserved. Loved and accepted by all, of course, but there was an open closeness and familiarity between her and Nicole that he'd never seen with her and Maggie, or with any of the other women. It could be any number of things, Daryl reflected as he dug his shovel deeper into the soft earth. At the prison, she'd been the daughter and baby sister, rather than an equal. And he had no idea how she'd related to her family on the farm, all his observations clouded by their unfamiliarity and mutual distrust along with his frenzied search for Sophia and the accompanying grief of failing to save her. And there was a two-plus year history between Beth and this family that he didn't know or understand, either. But he couldn't help thinking, every time he glanced in her direction, that she looked every bit as happy and at home here as she had when they were at the funeral home. And he wondered what, if anything, he could do to help that feeling last.

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**Admittedly a much shorter chapter than I usually push out, but this was the best place to stop (plus it let me get this to you faster!). As always, reviews make me smile (and draw me back to my computer, which makes me write faster, which gets you updates sooner... just sayin', people!)**


	16. Chapter 16

**An especially long wait deserves an especially long chapter... Happy Reading!**

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Chapter 16: Red Sky at Night, Part II

Daryl wished he'd never set foot on that farm. Or maybe that Beth hadn't gone with him. Not because things had gone badly, it had been good. Too good. And if there's one thing life had taught him, it's that good things never last long, and that his world generally felt all the shittier afterwards. And that's exactly how it was turning out. A peep show's glance at what could have been before reality slammed the proverbial door shut in his face.

It had been hard work, digging out new holes for fence posts, cutting the posts down to size and setting them in the ground, stringing barbed wire in multiple layers without shredding his hands in the process, ploughing, planting, mucking out stalls and pens and generally corralling nearly 1000 animals (or so he'd been told, Daryl never bothered to try counting them)… the Lykins had a massive working farm on their hands, many times larger than what Hershel and their group had tried to hold onto that first year. Even with the half-dozen men who'd come in from Archer's Point (a well-fortified settlement in the Prince William Forest barely half a day's horse-ride from the farm and about the same to Alexandria, something Daryl had filed away in his memory in case he ever got the chance to speak to Rick again), Daryl himself, and the Lykins clan (because 11 kids with a 12th on the way was definitely well past what he'd consider a normal-sized family), they were all still exhausted by the end of each day. Not Dwight, of course, who had begged off the hard labor by volunteering to keep watch every morning and all night, sleeping only in the afternoons just to keep from doing any heavy lifting. Which was fine by Daryl, made it all the better, really, as everyone else there treated him like a person worth knowing and having around. So Daryl would do it all over again, by himself even, just to not be where he was now, because at least it was good work, something useful and made sense to be doing.

Because this had to be the most bullshit, stupid thing he'd been made to do since the whole damn end of the world.

It's not as though there wasn't work that needed doing at the Sanctuary. The weather had finally righted itself, with the sun drying out the fields enough for a hasty attempt at getting spring grains and vegetables in the ground. But before that could happen, the fields had to be fertilized – the sulfur in the ground made the factory a good place to have geothermal power, but it also made the soil too acidic for anything to grow without treating it first, so ashes were carefully spread and tilled in across the whole field before anything could be planted. Making sure food could grow and getting the seeds in the ground – that was important. Cutting cords of firewood, maintenance on the Sanctuary's fleet of trucks and motorcycles, hell, even laundry or kitchen work at least had a point to it. But he was doing none of these things.

Yesterday morning after "waking up" the fence walkers, a Savior dubbed Fat Joseph had presented him with a toothbrush and a bucket with soft rags and a couple of different cleansers and ushered him over to a building on the west side of the compound. Daryl knew what it was, he'd just never had cause to go inside, but Beth had described how the Sanctuary dealt with their dead friends and family one night when he'd commented on the lack of graves or headstones. The Saviors cremated anyone who passed, their ashes scattered either in the fields or woods nearby, and their names were preserved on the memorial walls in what was unofficially known as the Crypt. Which is where Daryl now found himself, having been tasked with carefully washing, drying, polishing, and re-sealing the marble slabs etched with the names of everyone that any Savior had lost since the world had gone nuts.

And, just because Negan was an annoying fucker who knew how this kind of tedious, mind-numbingly pointless work would get under Daryl's skin, he had to use the toothbrush to carefully scrub out every letter of every name when he washed the stones. And again when he rinsed the soap off. And again after he used the polish. And again once the sealant had dried. Fat Joseph had at least the decency to shrug apologetically as he relayed Negan's orders. Because the Crypt was the size of a three-car garage with 12-foot ceilings, and the walls were completely lined with marble slabs that might have once been intended as countertops, now mounted side-by-side going from the floor to about a foot from the roof and stopping there only because of the small rectangle windows that let in the room's only light, names skillfully carved in one-inch capital letters. The wall to the left of the door was completely full, as was two-thirds of the long wall opposite. Hundreds, maybe thousands of names. Every family member, friend, neighbor, or even acquaintance that anyone had lost in the outbreak and anytime since. It was slow, dull, repetitive, boring… just the perfect storm for giving Daryl's darker thoughts far too much time and leeway until even his small collection of pleasant memories turned bitter.

To make matters worse, every time Daryl would get himself into a rhythm, feel like he was making any kind of progress, someone new would walk in, and he'd been ordered to step outside and wait anytime a Savior wanted to use the space to mourn. Much like visiting a cemetery, some would stay for only a moment, others would linger in front of certain names, talk to their loved ones. There were no candles to be lit, but there was a single table in the center of the room with an oil lantern whose small flame threw flickering light on a massive black binder that people occasionally flipped through, pausing on certain pages. Daryl couldn't tell if everyone was doing it because it was part of their normal routine or making special trips just to piss him off. Either way, it made what already promised to take days to get through stretch longer, and even Beth's visits weren't enough to take the edge off.

Those had been tainted, too, by their few days at the farm.

_The family Bible studies after breakfast and dinner were a bit much, but Daryl would suffer through to get more time with Beth and her kids. Like most things were when it came to interacting with anyone, but especially her, it was a bit awkward at first, but Daryl could push through the momentary tension and usually found it worth the effort. At the first breakfast, having just arrived and still in his stained sweats courtesy of the Sanctuary, no one blinked an eye when he distanced himself at far end of the outdoor picnic tables. And lunch had been brought out to him and the others working on the fencing and enjoyed in the field – enjoyed was the only way to describe it, real food filling his belly twice in one day with the spring sun on his face and not smelling like moldy shit; he'd grown up knowing he should appreciate the rare feeling of a full stomach and knowing how to go without, but it wasn't until getting a break from the Sanctuary that he could take stock of just how much Negan's tactics had been getting to him._

_But dinner was a family affair back at the picnic tables as the sun slowly sank below the tree line, and not even Beth had known what to do when Henry Elmore, a middle-aged, barrel-chested man from Archer's Point whose boisterous laugh frequently carried over the group, had unceremoniously wrapped his hand around Daryl's elbow and yanked him towards the middle of the table to sit next to Beth while Liam stood on the bench on her other side, lightly bouncing on his bare toes. _

_Lily, who had been determinedly wriggling out of Beth's arms to stand up like her brother, immediately stopped and asked, "Mama, who dat?" _

_And before anyone could blink, the oldest Lykins girl had leaned across the table to pass the bread basket with a grin, "Silly girl, that's your Daddy."_

_Beth met his startled look with her own widened eyes, momentarily distracted from trying to keep Lily in her lap. They hadn't talked about this, had been avoiding it really. It was one thing to change her name, to keep stringing Negan and the rest of the Saviors along with a relatively-harmless lie, a decision Daryl could easily support, especially since there was virtually no chance of ever having to do anything that would remotely amount to proving it. Something else entirely, though, to screw with her kids' heads. He liked kids well enough, had an easier time talking with them than he did adults most days. But Daryl Dixon wasn't anybody's Daddy, wasn't cut out for it. Uncle was enough of a stretch, and it still threw him off sometimes to think that Rick or anyone else would want their kid looking up to him that way. The older ones seemed to handle it alright – the boy didn't ask for or appear to expect more than advice on killing walkers, and the girl, well, this was his first time really being close to her, but Daryl doubted that she'd ever reach out to him, not with her not speaking and all. What good would it do anyway, to teach her or these toddlers that he was their father when one- there was almost no chance he'd ever be a real part of their lives and two- he'd do a shit job of it even if he were?_

_All this flashed through his mind so quickly that he barely registered that the source of his worries had already moved on with a cheerful, "K. Mama, wan' bwead! Bwead, Mama," standing up and reaching for the basket impatiently._

_Beth shook her head slightly and directed her attention back to the squirming toddler while Daryl bit his lower lip, trying to screw up his courage. It had been easier on the day Judith was born, to take charge, reach for the bawling infant, and feed her. Even with the whole group watching, he hadn't felt any nerves or doubts creeping in. If Rick had been there, it might have been different, he might not have stepped in the way he had, but after that day's failures and losses, he had needed to feel like he'd at least done that one thing right by their group. _

_Suck it up, Dixon, he thought to himself. Been watching her do everythin' on her own for weeks wishin' you could do somethin' to help her, gonna be a bitch about it, now that ya finally got a shot?_

"_I can take 'em," he offered softly, "if ya don't mind fixin' my plate after getting' theirs?"_

_He knew everyone was watching, or at least that Tim and Sunni were, sitting across from them and not even bothering to hide it, but Daryl made a concerted effort to keep casual and focus on what needed doing as he pulled one twin onto each of his knees and splitting a slice of sourdough bread between them so they'd be occupied while Beth portioned roast beef, vegetables, and gravy onto plates for all of them._

_As soon as the smaller plates were in front of the toddlers, Lily dropped her bread and grabbed a child-sized fork in her fist, declaring, "No, I do it!" when Daryl tried to cut her food._

"_Alright, you do it," he allowed before turning to Liam, "Let's get this cut down to size, okay, buddy?"_

_Beth frowned, "Daryl, she can't – "_

"_I know, she'll figure it out." He turned back to Liam and held the boy's pudgy hand around his fork and poked the blunted tines firmly into the small cut of roast, "You're gonna do it, I'm just gonna help a little." Using quick, precise motions, he quickly cut the boy's food around the fork before declaring, "Good job, you did it," before digging into his own meal and watching Lily from the corner of his vision. As he'd thought she would, the stubborn girl tried to mimic cutting her own food, growing increasingly more frustrated, wisps of strawberry-blonde hair getting in her eyes. When he thought she'd reached her limit, Daryl leaned down and murmured, "Can I help?"_

"_No, I do it," but her voice wasn't as sure as it had been and she sniffed as if on the verge of tears._

"_Sure, you'll do it, I'll just help a little. Here, take that fork and hold that food down good, and I'll just help," he had the beef halfway cut before she even agreed to it._

"_K, I do it. Daddy help."_

"_Yeah, kiddo, I'm just helping a little bit, you're doing it… and you got it, good job."_

_The child turned to Beth, beaming, "Mama, I do it! Daddy help. I do it!"_

_Beth grinned knowingly back, "Yes, you did, now eat your dinner." She raised her eyes to meet his._

"_Don't tell me I don't know stubborn," Daryl declared just loud enough for their small group (family?) to hear, "I grew up with Merle."_

_As conversation carried on around them and the evening wore on, Daryl thought to himself, Careful Dixon, you could get used to this._

And he had. Less than a week was all it had taken for him to be stupid enough to let his guard down and get sucked into the fairy tale. Dwight's conspicuous absence from any and all gatherings hadn't helped. Aside from one brief encounter the first night, Daryl didn't cross paths with him until they were packing up to leave. And even that had worked out favorably, as far as Daryl was concerned.

_As the household started to settle in for the night, Dwight emerged from the watch tower and angrily grabbed a fistful of the collar of Daryl's shirt and jerk him to the side of the large family room, his clothes smelling strongly of cigarettes that they both knew the Lykins didn't tolerate on their property. "Don't you even think for one second that you're about to head down the hall or up those stairs to a nice comfy bedroom. Don't you dare forget what you are. Or what you chose."_

_The urge to punch Dwight – just once, just break his nose and be done with it – had Daryl's fingers twitching. But Caiman Lykins then popped into the room with a lightness in his step and an easy smile on his face, as if it were nothing out of the ordinary to see a grown man whispering in another's ear in his living room, "We keep offering, but Beth insists the screened-in porch is her favorite place to sleep. You have any ideas on how to convince her to take one of the bedrooms?"_

_Dwight released Daryl's shirt as discretely as he could, but both men knew that Caiman's alert gaze had missed nothing. Daryl shook his head and murmured, "The porch's fine for us both, if that's alright."_

_Caiman sighed as if disappointed, "Well, will you at least tell my wife I tried so I don't get in trouble? Dwight, are you sure you're okay taking all the night shifts this week? Seems a shame to miss out on all that sunshine out in the field."_

_The words sounded like an expression of gratitude, but Dwight caught the hint of dismissal and shuffled wordlessly back up to take watch. Caiman didn't bother waiting until the scarred Savior had made it even halfway up the stairs before waving his arm, "Come on, Daryl, help me grab some bedding and pillows for the two of you at least."_

_Daryl shuffled along silently to the hall closet and stood silently as Caiman dropped a couple of hand-stitched quilts, pillows, and sheet sets into his willing arms. Caiman either took the silence as invitation to keep a running commentary or was going to speak regardless as he kept his thoughts flowing in an easy but continuous stream, "When my wife and I bought this place, all we had was a single-wide trailer, still on its wheels, but we knew what we wanted and kept saving up until we could build this place exactly the way we'd imagined it. And one of my favorite features is the upstairs. Almost the entire space, more than 1000 square feet, is one big open room for the kids' bedroom. Nicole and I always knew we wanted as many children as God would give us, but you never know, right? Boys? Girls? How many of each? So, with the open space, we can move furniture, rearrange however we like to give privacy, shift things around whenever we like to meet our needs. And it also means whenever Beth brings her kids, or Henry's grandkids come out with their folks, it's easy-peasy to get everyone settled in up there. And the kids love it, tons of space to play. A LOT of blanket-forts and indoor campouts happen up there. And best of all – we grown-ups get the nice, quiet, cozy downstairs bedrooms to ourselves."_

_By now, they had arrived at the screened-in porch off the side of the home's massive kitchen. The porch was bigger than the entire trailer Daryl had grown up in after his mother had burnt their house down around her, stained wood beams framing windows of tight mesh screening on every side and two large spinning ceiling fans keeping the air moving, the walls lined with wicker furniture decked in a variety of colorful cushions, rocking chairs, and a couple of lounge chairs, which they now pulled side-by side and fitted with cushions before draping the sheets overtop. _

"_But what I really wanted," Caiman stood up from their work and faced Daryl dead-on, "was to talk with you alone." His usual grin was gone. "We know. We know Beth is not your wife, we know there's never been any romance between you. And those kids might have called you 'daddy' at dinner tonight, but they're not yours by blood. Nicole and I, we both __know__."_

_Daryl swallowed, taking a guess where this was heading, "If you don't want me around your family, I understand."_

"_No, you don't, that's not what I meant at all." Caiman stared him down with a considering look before seeming to change the subject, "Do you know what a caiman is?" He didn't bother to wait for Daryl's answer, "It's kind of like an alligator. My parents were a bit on the hippie side, wanted to name all their girls after flowers and their boys after animals. Six sons and no daughters later, they were getting a bit desperate, so here I am, named after a lizard, the curse of being the baby of the family. My wife grew up with four sisters and a brother. In case you couldn't already tell, we're real big on family. My parents are in Indiana, my brothers and their families, scattered all around the Midwest. Nicole's family, they're all in Missouri. We choose to believe that they all made it through the outbreak, but we also know we are never going to see any of them again in this lifetime. I've always been outgoing, I'll make friends no matter where we are. But it's harder for Nicole, she's never been that kind of sociable, always had her one or two close friends, and her sisters. She and Beth really bonded, almost right from the first time they met. I think they fill some of each other's loneliness in ways no one else can."_

_Daryl nodded and, even though he barely knew the man in front of him, decided it wasn't all that much of a risk to reveal his observations from the day, "Beth's happier here than I seen in her in a long time. Maybe ever."_

_It wasn't an exaggeration. Daryl hadn't been able to fully appreciate how much stress Beth carried around with her until he saw how it melted off her shoulders in just one afternoon outside the Sanctuary's walls. How light and free and open her whole self had been, even Daryl could see it from across the pasture, how she couldn't get the smile off her face if she'd tried._

_Caiman stayed serious as he moved to sit on one of the wicker chairs, motioning for Daryl to do the same, "My faith teaches me to believe the best of people, and my faith hasn't steered me wrong yet. But before the outbreak, I was a military pilot, and my work took me to places I've sworn never to discuss with another living soul. But I can tell you that I have seen what evil looks like, and it's not the dead. I do believe that Negan has goodness in him, or I would never let him near my wife and children. I also have enough experience with the darker sides of human nature to recognize that he is a deeply flawed man. Everyone should get chances to learn lessons in this life, but that doesn't mean I necessarily want the people who matter most to me to be part of Negan's personal growth. Do you remember the way here?"_

_Daryl was still mentally processing everything Caiman was trying to share with him to respond to the seemingly out-of-the-blue question._

"_No matter, Beth knows it if you don't. You caught a glimpse of the fences today, but this place has defenses Negan's never dreamed up and will never know about. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"_

_Daryl nodded. Sitting right in front of him was potentially the kind of miracle he'd stopped believing in a long time ago. An escape from Negan and a happy, safe place for Beth. Except it was never that easy. "Beth and the kids could come here, but I can't." He put up his hands to stop Caiman's impending interruption. "I know ya mean for me to, that you're offerin' to keep all of us safe from Negan if it came down to it. It ain't about me not believing you'd do it, or at least try. If I come here, I might be safe, but a lot of folks Beth 'n' I both care about won't be."_

"_Again, we know, about Maggie and Glenn and all the rest of them. It's a big farm, Daryl, always plenty to do and more than enough room. Maybe they come here, too."_

"_Then Negan would attack for sure," Daryl declared with absolute certainty._

"_Do you know how to run a farm? Raise livestock? Do you know how many animals an acre of pasture can sustain? How to keep them from inbreeding to the point of going sterile or diseased? How to rotate crops for maximum produce? Negan needs this place, and more importantly needs __us__ running it, a whole heck of a lot more than we will ever need him," Caiman revealed his proverbial ace in the hole. "You've seen the Sanctuary. Do you think those fields can grow enough food to feed everyone?"_

_Daryl shrugged, "Ask me how much meat's gotta be hunted or caught to feed a group, can tell you 'bout that all day long. Always left the gardenin' to folks who know better."_

"_Well," Caiman responded, "Short answer is, Negan found himself a very nice, solid building that can hold a lot of people and will probably have the lights on until Kingdom come. He even lucked out that the developers who invested in what that land was supposed to become had already dug the wells for a decent water supply that might not run dry for decades. But the fact is, the soil around that factory takes far too much effort to keep it fertile, and there's nowhere near enough room for livestock to graze and still plant enough for folks to eat, even with the greenhouses producing year-round. And Negan knows it. It's part of why he works as hard as he does to trade with as many communities as he can. It's still not enough. The Sanctuary is physically strong but it's well beyond capacity and cannot possibly sustain itself. If he doesn't cut the crowds at that factory by at least half in the next few years, the Sanctuary will fall. And if Nicole and decided tomorrow to stop supplying him, even if all 22 of his other communities and every single outpost he has kept producing, at least a third of the people in that factory would starve to dead in less than a year. That's how much he needs us."_

Two weeks later, Daryl was still pondering over the conundrum. Caiman's offer had introduced an entirely new element into his already chaotic mess of a situation. There were a lot of potential holes, more than enough things that could go horribly wrong that made Daryl hesitant about how to go about using his unexpected ally. What he really kept getting stuck on, though, was how easily everything could have gone in his favor instead of the fucked-up series of events that had him scraping a particularly stubborn clump of dirt out of the notches of 'JOHN GODFREY's name on a marble slab. The Lykins farm was just over thirty miles from the Alexandria Safe Zone. One turn down the right road and they not only would have found a sustainable food source, but people who knew about Beth and would have gladly helped reunite her with her family. And no one would have had to die and he and Aaron and Maggie would all be home right now, and Beth along with him –

"The fuck you even doin' in here anyhow?"

Daryl wasn't often caught completely off-guard, but he'd been so caught up in his musings, he'd never heard the old man approach, hadn't noticed him blocking the light from the open door.

"Ain't it enough, I gotta get up every mornin' knowin' I'm the last of my blood? Put my head down at night knowin' if I kick off, they ain't nobody left to remember or care?" Charlie Preston advanced on Daryl, still kneeling by the wall. Not that Daryl was the slightest bit afraid – the old man might have temper and a grizzled toughness, but even in his weakened state (he'd been put back on the one-a-day-dogfood-sandwich diet the instant they'd returned to Negan's compound), Daryl knew he'd have no trouble defending himself. Except that, if he did so much as glare too long, let alone actually put his hands on him and the old geezer decided to report it, Daryl could be cut off from Beth. Being here at all was already bad enough; being here alone would be intolerable.

"Ain't it enough, I gotta see you and that other Alexandrian piece-a-shit walkin' around when my boys can't?" Daryl set down the toothbrush and rag and resigned himself to hearing the old man out until he got tired and left, or decided words weren't enough and started throwing punches. Daryl had known rednecks like this all his life – he was betting on taking a beating before all was said and done.

"They wouldn't even let me see their bodies, did ya know that? Some of 'em were butchered and burnt up so bad, they didn't want folks knowin' which ones came back whole and which were too fucked up to rightly recognize, so none of us got to see. The fuck kinda people are ya? Can't even be satisfied with just killin', gotta burn 'em alive and screamin', gotta rip 'em apart? Is that what you done to my boys? Would you even know?" The old man was heaving with emotion as he towered over Daryl. "My boy Chuck, he went and put himself through trade school, learned himself how to do all kinds of wirin' and electrical what-not. Had himself a pretty gal what wanted to marry him. And Daniel never done nothin' but want to follow after his big brother. My grandsons never lay a finger on another livin' soul! All they done is try to do right by folks around here and look after an ol' man who couldn't never do nothin' for 'em! And now, I can't even come to their headstone without the murderin' filth what took 'em from me bein' here." After several heaving breaths to get himself under control, Charlie glowered, "But you go on, you take yer little brush and you scrub them names, boy. Hope your fingers bleed from it. Hope ya can't close yer eyes without seein' all them names over and over. Hope you go as slow as all those poor sons-a-bitches at that outpost did, and I hope they're waitin' to meet ya on the other side."

* * *

No one had ever described Abraham as a patient man, but he forced himself to find ways to keep busy until the street cleared and he could approach Rosita in what he hoped seemed casual and spontaneous to anyone who happened to notice. Even as he concentrated on measuring his gait into something resembling a stroll, he couldn't help a grinning appreciation of both her outfit and the intensity with which she sharpened her hunting knife. Just because they weren't together anymore didn't mean he couldn't acknowledge what to his mind was the perfect combination of sexy and badass.

"What's wrong, Sasha not putting out often enough for you?" She didn't even look up as his boots came into her field of vision.

"Don't be like that, Rosie," he groused before deliberately softening his normally brash tone. "I really do miss working with you," he softly added.

Rosita slid the whetstone along the blade's edge a final time before glancing up from her seat on the porch steps, "Is this your version of the 'can we be friends' pitch?"

"How 'bout it's me acknowledging I could've been less of an asshole about how this all went down."

She snorted, "No argument there." She paused for a moment, and Abraham let her, figuring she deserved at least this much for putting up with how he essentially paraded his relationship with Sasha in her face. "I've always had the upper hand when it comes to dating," she revealed. "Could keep it as intense or casual as I wanted it, and every guy I hooked up with was… useful. It was good, the sex was fun, learned something new from each one, enjoyed things while they lasted, got out before it got too real and I might miss them too much when shit inevitably hit the fan. Things with you were… feeling like it might have been different. And I've never been dumped before," she finally met his gaze with a rueful grin, which he returned.

"Sucks the big hairy one, don't it?" That got a small laugh out of her before she grew pensive again.

"Does Sasha feel 'different'?"

Abraham gave his response the gravitas Rosita deserved, "I would never have left you for anything less than 'the one'."

He let the silence stretch for a minute before resting his forearm casually against the porch railing's post, "You and Spencer?"

Rosita rolled her eyes and scoffed, "Oh, please, total rebound. Something to do until I get my head on straight."

Abraham grinned, pleased to take the conversation back into their more comfortable banter, "He's too good-looking for you anyway."

"Excuse you?" her eyebrows shot up and the tip of her knife shifted to point dangerously close to his zipper for Abraham's comfort.

He knew better than to flinch or drop his grin. This was how they played. "I just mean that Pretty Boy's used to being the hot one in the relationship. He can't be happy competing with your sexy sweetness."

Rosita narrowed her eyes at the brawny redhead, "This is exactly the kind of back-and-forth we used to do when you wanted me all riled up for an especially hot fuck, and seeing as how Sasha is apparently 'the one' for you – what do you want?"

Abraham reached into one of the many pockets on his cargo pants and held, low enough for Rosita but no one else who might be walking by to see, a handful of spent bullet casings, his expression turned dark, "I want to know if you're as pissed as I am. I want to know what you're willing to do for Eugene."

* * *

Merle was right, Daryl groused to himself as he glanced around furtively, he really was a glutton for punishment. It's not like the old man's words were any worse than anything he'd heard since he'd been brought to Negan's stronghold – or all his life, for that matter. There was a time when he could let insults roll off him like water off a duck's back. When he'd been pulled from the Crypt to help with the midday meal clean-up, he'd seen the old man shouting, half-crazed, to anyone who would listen how the walkers were ruining his tomatoes and upsetting his bees. He'd lost his family, and that was tragic, but he was also clearly off his rocker, and therefore nothing he said should be worth worrying over.

And yet, here he was, seriously contemplating a major breach in… actually, Daryl wasn't sure how opening the Crypt's binder and flipping through the pages would break any of Negan's dumb-ass "rules", but it seemed like the kind of nit-picky thing the grinning sadist would jump all over. Not respecting people's privacy, maybe? _Then maybe he shouldn't be askin' Beth to be spyin' and shit for him_.

That irked him, when Beth had revealed Negan's concerns about how Alexandria came to attack the satellite station and how he wanted her help bringing down the potential traitor in the Saviors' crew. And no, it was not because she'd told him while they were trying to calm her son's night terrors.

"_I'm sorry," she half-whispered as she brought the squalling toddler out to the screened-in porch that was serving as their shared sleeping space for the week. They had both jolted from where they had just been settling down onto the lounge chairs when the boy had started screaming – his cries carrying from upstairs and across the house._

_Daryl had shaken his head and reached out, "Give 'im here." Beth had instinctively tightened her arms around Liam, but Daryl was insistent, "He woke up Lily, didn't he? And he's still asleep, he won't know who's holdin' him. Go get her settled like I know ya wanna and I'll work on gettin' him calm."_

_She'd come back a few minutes later to find them laying on one of the lounge chairs, Liam stretched across Daryl's torso, sucking on one finger and burying his face in the ratty mane of his stuffed lion._

"_I can take him, if ya like," she'd offered softly._

"_He's sleepin' now, don't wanna wake him," Daryl's voice was equally low. "Should probably check outside, or at least make sure Dwight ain't sleepin' up there on watch. His carryin' on like that probably drew in more'n a few walkers."_

"_Not likely," was her unexpected response. "The farm's 1600 acres, that's 2 ½ square miles, and we're right in the heart of it. With the trees all around, even Liam's screamin' at the top of his lungs ain't likely to carry far enough to be any trouble." She pulled one of the quilts up over both Daryl and the baby before settling in her own makeshift bed. "But you're sure Dwight's on watch right now?"_

"_Yeah, supposed to be, why?"_

_And she had taken only the time to glance around to be sure they were alone before relaying everything about Negan's visit to her apartment and his suspicions about Hilltop and a possible traitor. "That's why I gotta ask, I know we said we weren't gonna get into all this, but – "_

"_Gregory told Rick about the outpost. I wasn't there when he did and I don't know how he knew about it, but I only scouted the place because I got told where to look for it," Daryl didn't see any point not divulging everything he knew, at least to Beth._

"_You scouted it ahead of the attack?" she asked, and the wavering tone in her voice was exactly why they hadn't talked about this too much before now. Daryl wasn't convinced that Negan and the Saviors weren't every bit the brutal, overbearing bastards Hilltop had painted them to be, but Beth knew and liked a lot of the people who had died at that outpost, and neither of them were very good at keeping their emotions in check about the whole thing. But if Gregory or some fucker inside the Saviors had set them up and he could get Negan's rage (and that damned barbed bat) directed on them instead of Rick and the rest of their family in Alexandria, then it was worth checking his defensiveness for the space of a conversation._

"_Me and Jesus, yeah, we went there a couple of times, trying to get a head-count, see if Negan was actually there or not before we made any kinda move on the place."_

"_But Negan wasn't there. Wait – Jesus?" Beth couldn't seem to decide which was more important to focus on._

"_Jesus – his real name's Paul Rovia, Hilltop guy. You ever see him, you'll get it."_

"_So Hilltop has started sending out scavengers."_

"_Nah, just the one, and no one sends him, he just goes. Don't like stayin' in one place too long. Ain't been in Hilltop all that long, either, maybe a year, two tops. 's why he didn't know whether we was seein' Negan or not. Could only go by what Gregory had told Rick to look for – white guy, black hair, leather jacket, red scarf. Saw a guy fit most of that, both times we watched the camp."_

"_But that could be a lot of people," the judgement creeped into Beth's tone despite how hard Daryl knew she usually tried not to let it._

"_Yeah," he admitted. "Think I probably got that even then. Guess I wanted it to be him. Wanted it done. 's why, when we rounded up everyone who came out of the compound, asked for Negan, and the one guy stepped up… didn't question it, just did what we came to do and sent the rest running. But I guess the survivors told a different story."_

_Beth sat up so she could be sure she had his attention, "Daryl, there were no survivors."_

Maybe that, more than old man Preston's grief-fueled hatred, spurred him on now. Because Beth wouldn't lie to him. And what she said fit with what Negan had been raging about that night on the road: 31 people had worked at the satellite outpost, and 31 people had died there when Rick had led their group to attack it. But what Beth knew and what Daryl knew were two different things. Because what Daryl knew was that, however many people had died inside (and, really, it shouldn't have been all that many, Eugene's firebombs were supposed to only have enough fuel to send a brief burst of flame before dying out), they'd only killed a handful who ran out before capturing nearly a dozen of them. Daryl had killed one. Ten people were set free to tell other outposts that Negan was dead. Obviously, they'd gotten that part wrong, but that was still ten more corpses than there ought to have been.

Daryl didn't know what exactly he expected to find by looking in the Sanctuary's book of remembrance. It's not like he doubted Beth's word. He just wanted… something… confirmation, maybe? He didn't quite know. But the Crypt was empty and no one outside seemed anywhere close to approaching. And if he got caught, well, he'd deal with that if it came.

It was like Beth had described. Each page in a plastic sleeve to preserve its contents. Loved ones' names, birth and death dates, things that people remembered about them or noteworthy things they'd done, how they died, and, whenever possible, a picture of the deceased. Those that didn't have a photograph often had a pencil sketch – apparently, the Sanctuary had an artist who lent his or her services, as they all seemed to be done in a similar style. Daryl perused a few pages at random before flipping to the back of the book. Entries were added in order of people's deaths, so those who'd died at the satellite outpost should be on the last few pages. He did a quick tally – 31 names with the notation 'killed at the satellite outpost massacre'. _Leave it to Negan and his goddamned flair for dramatics_. There was nothing more descriptive about how they'd died – he'd have to ask Beth for more details to know how many had burned versus how many had been stabbed, shot, etc.

But the photographs told the real story. Daryl wouldn't be half the hunter or tracker he was if he couldn't remember things as he saw them. And he knew some of those faces were part of the group they'd sent off into the woods. And here was proof they hadn't made it back – in fact, had died at the outpost. Which meant someone else who knew they were going to be out there that night had not only killed them, but brought them back to be sure Negan found them at the outpost and put the blame on Alexandria. _Maybe 'massacre' ain't so far off… poor bastards never had a chance._

And now that he was here, Daryl couldn't help himself from skimming through the epitaphs. It's not as though he'd ever thought Beth lied to him. The people were there to set up a working home and farmland, so it shouldn't have been a surprise to see that reflected in what people had written about their lost loved ones. _Great carpenter, always loved gardening, father of two daughters…_ Daryl had never taken a life before the dead started walking, and, aside from Dale, whose life he'd ended out of mercy, Daryl had never taken a good life. Only enemies who were clearly out to get him or the people he protected. Until now. Looking at their faces smiling up from their photographs, reading bullet-point notes on who they'd been and who they'd left behind, the realization of what they, what _he_ had done hit him with greater force than any of his father's beatings: he really was a murderer. He had killed people who had never harmed him, never threatened his family, just walked up to them and snuffed out their lives. No different from the Governor rolling up to their prison gates and blowing everything they'd built to hell.

And the real icing on the cake (because when things went to shit in Daryl's life, they never did it by halves): there on the last page, "Charles 'Chuck' Preston and Daniel Preston", and underneath, a wrinkled, worn photograph folded many times, probably kept in the old man's billfold, the grinning face of a young man with black hair and a weathered leather jacket. The same face on the man who'd stepped up and claimed he was Negan in a desperate, self-sacrificing gamble to save the others' lives. The same face Daryl himself had put a bolt through. And Daryl knew, every time he walked past the old man or his raised garden beds, he was going to see that smiling photo in his mind and remember what he'd done.

* * *

Enid frowned as she tried to figure out how to go about the task she'd given herself. Not just the physical juggling of it – although that was something of a trick, navigating herself and a plate of food out the small window and onto the roof of the house to where she knew Glenn was hiding. But the emotional bit was more of a struggle. Her personal motto was a whole lot easier to live by when other people weren't brought into the mix. Surviving for herself was manageable: find food, find shelter, don't get bit. For a long while, she'd also added 'don't get attached', but, she guessed, that wasn't really an option for her anymore. And now that she was finding herself attached to more and more people, their survival was all tangled up in her own. Which is how she now found herself stuck risking life and limb (or at least an uncomfortable landing should she slide and fall the fifteen or so feet to the ground) just to make sure Glenn didn't completely fall apart in Maggie's absence.

Glenn didn't even look her way as she carefully maneuvered herself across the roof's slant to where he was perched between the two dormer windows.

"You're on the roof. Again." She internally rolled her eyes at her terrible opening. She really did suck at this whole conversation thing.

"Yeah," Glenn kept staring ahead at some indecipherable point on the darkening horizon.

"And you missed dinner. Again." Enid moved to stand over him and held the plate down near his face. She saw him open his mouth and, anticipating the rejection, she cut him off, "Not that I blame you for that last one. Turnip – again. But food is food and you're no good to Maggie or your baby if you don't eat."

That, at least, got Glenn to break his personal staring contest and meet her eyes with a sullen expression.

"At least split it with me?" Enid offered hopefully.

Glenn showed a spark of curiosity, "Didn't you already eat?"

"No, it's turnip," Enid's exaggerated look of disgust drew a slight chuckle, which, honestly, was better than she expected. She busied herself with settling safely on the slanted surface, putting her back to the window box for both comfort and stability. It also put her close enough to Glenn that they could balance the plate on their adjoining knees while she dug two forks out of her jeans pocket.

"I wouldn't have been caught dead with turnip on my plate when I was little," she kept a running dialog so he wouldn't have the chance to refuse to share the meager meal with her. "Everyone said I was the world's pickiest eater."

"I dunno," Glenn offered as he speared a forkful of boiled turnip, "I pretty much lived on pizza for the last three years of my life before all this."

"Please," Enid challenged with a smirk, "I wouldn't even touch pizza. It had cheese on it. I hate cheese."

"Were you allergic?"

"Nope, didn't like the way it smelled or the way it bubbled when it melted, so I refused to touch it."

Glenn's disbelieving (but engaged) look spurred Enid on, "Oh, it gets better. I also wouldn't eat potatoes. Not just boiled or mashed, but potato chips, French fries, none of it. My parents couldn't even go through the drive-thru and get me a Happy meal, 'cause I wouldn't eat it."

"What did you _live_ on?"

"Peanut butter sandwiches – no jelly, it wiggled in the jar and that creeped me out – grapes, cereal, and broccoli, oddly enough."

Glenn pondered her strange childhood diet for a moment before nearly startling her with his realization, "But we eat potatoes all the time!"

"And I still hate them," Enid confided. "I take as few bites as I possibly can, and as soon as I feel the least little bit like my stomach isn't going to growl in the next few minutes, I stop." She let silence settle around them for a few minutes before revealing, "I've never told anyone. It's a stupid thing to worry about for one, gotta eat whatever we can get. But mostly because it would mean talking about _before_, and I try to not even think about it. Just stay in the now, you know? When I do, you know, think about my parents and everything, it's just a lot. Like how I shouldn't know that it's easier to eat raw turtle than it is to choke down raw frog."

"But is raw turtle easier than cooked turnip?"

Enid pretended to give the ridiculous question a moment of serious contemplation, "Well… turtles are kinda cute, so… score one for the turtle, I guess. Better to swallow the vegetable that tastes like dirt smells and let the little guy live to plod along another day."

Glenn nodded and set the now-empty plate and forks on the roof behind him. "Before, I delivered pizzas and basically lived on the leftovers and Monster drinks, playing video games until my eyes bugged out, all the while swearing to my parents back in Michigan that I was saving money to go to college when I had no plans to ever go back in a stuffy classroom. I was just spinning my wheels. Then shit got crazy and I've been right in the middle of it ever since, always part of the fight. Now I'm stuck sitting on the sidelines again and it sucks."

Enid wasn't sure what to say to that. After a few minutes of relatively comfortable silence, she offered, "I never really thanked you for bringing me back to Alexandria all those months ago."

"Given how things are, not all that sure I did you a favor, convincing you that being here was better than making a go of it out there." When she didn't jump in with any kind of platitude (because, really, what was there to say?), he opened up, more to the night sky than to her, "I've never been without her this long. Maggie and I have had each other's backs since almost the start. Even after we lost the prison, all I could think of was getting back to her, and I went out and did it. Now, it's still the only thing I think of, except I've got no way of doing it without getting people killed. Getting her killed. And our baby. I've never felt our baby kick. I've only ever felt one baby kick inside her mother, and that was Judith. I remember freaking out, the first time Lori asked if I wanted to – everyone else in the group already had, except for Daryl, but no one was going to ask him anything like that back then. It was so weird, like, _Alien_-level weirdness… but I also remember how Rick and even Carl would get whenever they touched Lori's belly. It was like all the stupid rom-coms my sisters used to make me watch, but now, it's all I want. Shit," Glenn looked at Enid as if he's just realized he'd said all that aloud, "I shouldn't be leveling all this on you."

Enid didn't answer for a couple of minutes. She couldn't necessarily relate to a lot of what he said but understood the basics. Finally settling on what she wanted to say, she asked, "I don't mind. You and Maggie… you're kinda… important. To me. You're important to me."

Glenn smiled softly, "You're important to us, too."

"Can I tell you something?"

Glenn nodded for her to go on. Enid swallowed, and wished she'd figured out how to bring a glass of water out here earlier, but ploughed through regardless, "How you feel, spinning your wheels or sitting on the sidelines or whatever? That's how it was for me when y'all took Maggie to Hilltop and left me here. Not you, exactly, you weren't here. But the others. Carl actually locked me in a closet to keep me from coming along and helping. I didn't just get left behind, I got trapped in a dark, stuffy box, not knowing when or if anyone would know to get me out. I know it's not the same."

"Not cool, though," Glenn agreed.

"I know I probably wouldn't have made a difference out there with the Saviors. I'd have been in just as much trouble as y'all were. But at least I would have been there. And now I feel like all I can do is babysit, Judy, the other kids… Carl…"

"Me," Glenn added with a bit of an eye-roll. Enid didn't argue – she was having to trick him into eating, after all.

Silence stretched between them for a bit longer before Glenn quietly offered, "I can't tell you what-all's going on, but we're…" he paused to sort out his words, "trying something" he finished vaguely. Still, Enid nodded in appreciation.

"That time you went out and things went bad, and Nicholas did what he did," Enid reminded, "People here put your name up on the wall because they were all sure you were dead. Maggie and I took it off because she was sure you weren't. I think Maggie's okay."

"Why?"

"Does she feel gone to you?"

Glenn met Enid's eyes in the darkness, "No, she doesn't."

"Whenever you try whatever it is y'all are planning…"

"I promise, no matter what, neither one of us is going to be on the sidelines."

* * *

"So, I got your message," Beth quirked a lopsided grin as she held up a fistful of gardening tarp scraps and waved the fluttering ends in Daryl's direction. "Why exactly do we need these?" she asked as she eased the cell door behind her.

Daryl reached with practiced ease for the hand-crank lantern clipped to Beth's belt and started winding the crank, "The old man, one with all the honeycomb and tomatoes you like so much – "

"Charlie Preston?"

Daryl nodded in the now-lit space as they both sat on the floor and began laying out the pieces of tarp Beth had managed to scrounge from the greenhouses. "Heard 'im earlier, fussin' that the dead on the fences're upsettin' his bees, scratchin' at the hive boxes. Wanted the walkers cleared off, but Negan won't do it, puts a hole in the security net he said, make the whole place vulnerable. Don't know if it'll make much difference but," he reached for Beth's knife and began slicing the tarp into even strips, "maybe workin' this stuff into the fence itself will keep the dead from seein' in and wantin' to bother the hives."

"I love that," Beth's heartfelt smile was worth any lingering embarrassment Daryl felt at his idea. "When do you think you'll start weavin' this stuff through the chain link?"

"Tomorrow mornin', when I get let out to walk the fences. Wasn't sure if Tim'd be able to tell ya in time to find this stuff tonight, only caught him by chance 'cuz of where I's workin', his class or whatever was practicin' knife-throwin' this afternoon. Kids' aims are so bad a few near hit me, an' I was more'n ten feet from the target wall."

Beth chuckled softly as she helped him sort the tarp strips. "How was Tim's aim?"

"Better'n most. Ain't got much strength behind his throw yet, though. Ya feelin' better about him pushin' towards that mark thing?"

"Tim, yes. Dwight, no." Beth's expression darkened at the memory of their last afternoon at the Lykins' farm.

_Daryl had thought Negan showing up to share a meal with the Lykins family before everyone headed back to the Sanctuary would have broken the spell on whatever crazy dream he'd seem to have fallen into, but the end result of that afternoon was worth whatever shit Dwight might later throw at him in retaliation._

"_I swear, I'm not much for farm life, but if you keep feeding me like this," Negan gestured to his near-empty plate, "I'm gonna have to put in for a change in address." His smile was genuine as he praised Nicole Lykins, who waived him off._

"_Don't look at me, they did all the work," she tipped her head down the long picnic table to where her teenaged children were finishing their own meals. "I'm pregnant. I neither cook nor do dishes while I'm pregnant, house rules."_

_Negan glanced to her husband, who shrugged, "She also doesn't kill any of the livestock or clean them once they're bled out, and she doesn't muck stalls, either."_

"_Certainly explains the whole eleven kids and counting thing you've got going on… I'm guessing you also don't put down the dead while preggers," Negan smirked._

"_Actually, none of us have this week. Tim here has done the border patrol both at sunup and sundown, taken care of everything."_

"_No kidding," Negan eyed the young boy appraisingly where he sat across from Beth and Daryl. "Been putting in quite a bit of practice time with that bow, what're you up to now?"_

_Tim bit his lower lip, "Um, 283, sir." His shy nature and Negan's considering stare had him struggling to keep eye contact._

_Negan let out a low whistle. "Damn – I mean, Dang – seriously, you folks are killing me with your no-cussing rule… You aiming to set a speed record there, Mister Dixon?"_

"_No, sir. I just like getting in the practice."_

"_Well, you must have your eye on either a Hell of – oh, for cryin' out loud, really?" he sent a pleading look Nicole's way, but her glare was relentless. He mock-glared back at the brunette woman who merely raised an eyebrow in return. "FINE… one HECK of a job opportunity or one seriously awesome firearm." _

_Tim swallowed, but it was the way his hands fidgeted under the table that pulled Daryl's gaze away from the half-playful staring contest between his captor and the farm's owners to meet an equally-attentive expression in Beth's eyes. "Um, no, not really, Mr. Negan. I haven't really thought about what I want to do when I finish school."_

"_But you have been cruising the armory, done a little window-shopping," Negan surmised._

_The boy shook his head, "I don't want a gun. I like the bow just fine, and my knife." Tim was surprisingly adamant._

"_Well, color me curious, why the rush to hit the mark, then?" Negan leaned back as far as he could without losing his balance on the wooden bench, "What could a young man like yourself possibly need with 1000 points if you're not going to use them as intended?"_

_No one at the table missed the way Tim looked first to Beth, then back to Negan before ducking his head and softly asking, "Could I maybe… can I tell __just__ you? Please?"_

_Negan seemed to take it in stride, "Sure, kid. We'll get these dishes cleared and you can show me the new fenced-in area y'all been working on. It's for the sheep, right, Caiman?" he deftly steered the conversation away from the visibly nervous boy._

_When lunch was finished, with Nicole sending one of her boys to take a plate up to Dwight in the watch-tower, Negan put a hand on Tim's shoulder and guided him away from the group. As he turned, he tipped his chin to Beth to get her attention before discretely tapping on the walkie-talkie at his belt and waving four fingers._

_Beth waited until she was sure Tim was sufficiently focused on walking with Negan before she pulled Daryl by the sleeve to the screened-in porch that had been their bedroom for the past week, as it was also where the Lykins' kept their radio and speaker equipment. Daryl quickly picked up the handheld and switched it to channel four before turning it on, Negan's voice immediately crackling through the receiver._

"_He must have locked down the speaker button," Beth commented as they listened in, watching as the leather-clad man led Tim down the hill towards the pasture, stopping to lean casually against one of the newly-placed fence posts._

"…_so I don't know which to be more curious about, you wanting to get your hands on 1000 points to NOT buy a weapon, or you wanting to do it while NOT telling dear ol' mom and dad."_

"_But we can, right?" Tim's voice was soft and uncertain. "When we hit the mark, the points are ours, we can use them however we want?"_

"_Sure, no rule saying you HAVE to use them to arm yourself. But since it's us talking 'man to man' out here, there's probably not going to be another time when you'll have that much collateral in the bank. So why wouldn't you want to? Cut to the chase, kid, what is it exactly you're wanting to get your hands on and why aren't you wanting your mother to know about it?"_

_After a beat, they watched Tim stand a little straighter and look up at Negan, "Will you promise not to tell my Mom?"_

"_Is it dangerous?"_

"_No."_

"_Will she get pissed at me if and when this all inevitably comes to light?"_

"_No, I don't think so."_

_Negan nodded, "Then I promise, I won't say a word to her about it."_

"_Did Negan just break his own rule about lying?" Caiman walked up to stand on the other side of Beth._

"_Technically, no. He didn't promise not to let me eavesdrop while Tim did the talking," Beth replied, eyes still glued to the radio in Daryl's hand._

"_I want to get Mom's vest back. And Mr. Anders said he'd sell it to me. But the only way to get the points…"_

"… _is to put down 1000 rotters. Preferably before Dwighty-boy puts any more holes in it than it already has," Negan finished for him. "So why the big dramatics – 'can I tell JUST you'?"_

"_I want it to be a surprise. Mom doesn't get a lot of those. Not good ones, anyway. And I…" Tim shuffled his feet in the dirt before deciding to reveal, "I heard you and her talking last week. When she said she didn't like seeing her angel wings on Mr. Anders' back instead of – I just thought maybe I could help her."_

"_And what else did you hear that night?" Negan's tone was deadly serious._

"_Just… just that, you think it's silly to have eggs for dinner." Even at a distance, Daryl could see the boy's body language betraying his nervousness._

"_Uh-huh," Negan deadpanned. "I'm gonna trust that you understand that some conversations aren't meant for everybody. Or anybody."_

"_I know how to keep secrets, Mr. Negan," Tim's voice might have been low, but it didn't waver._

_Negan tipped his head, "And just what secrets do you have experience keeping?"_

"_Well, if I tell you, doesn't that kinda prove I don't know how to keep them?"_

"_And maybe satisfying my piece of mind after eavesdropping on my very private conversation is more important." Beth and Daryl both bristled at the way Negan stepped into Tim's personal space to intimidate the boy._

"_Okay… well, you know how Mom and Sunni and I got past the fence and the guards and everything when we decided to move into the Sanctuary and even after all this time, no one's figured out how we did it, and we haven't told anyone?"_

"_I do," the open curiosity bled into Negan's tone._

_Tim made himself keep eye-contact as he took a risk, "I'm still not telling you."_

_Even without binoculars, Daryl could see the pause and then the toothy grin spreading over Negan's face, "Look at you! Got some of your Mom's backbone there, don'tcha? Or is that your Dad's stubbornness? Hard to tell… Well, I just don't know, tiny Tim, what if I made it worth your while… say, by marching back up that hill and making Dwight hand over that vest right here and now. And then you get to keep your 1000 points once you earn them AND make your mama smile. What would you say to that?"_

"_I wouldn't want you to," Tim easily replied. "I mean, yeah, getting the vest and the points would be cool and all, but then Mr. Anders would be mad, and it wouldn't be fair, besides."_

_Negan stepped even closer to the boy and murmured with deadly seriousness, "And if I told you that if you don't tell me, right here and now, what weakness in my Sanctuary's defenses you all so expertly exploited back then, I will take my darling Lucille, march back up that hill, and beat the holy hell out of Daddy Daryl until you talk?"_

"_I… I would tell him why, and he'd want Mom to keep her secret if she thought it was important, so he would tell me not to tell you," his small voice was tremulous. _

"_Aren't you something? Alrighty, then," Negan's voice carried a measured consideration, "And that's it, that's the whole enchilada?" At Tim's clear confusion he clarified, "That's all you needed to tell me?"_

"_Yes, sir."_

"_Well," his tone back to his usual cheerful swagger, "Far be it for me to get in the way of anything that puts a smile on the good Doc's face." He wrapped an arm around Tim's shoulder and swung Lucille in a wide arc as he turned and began the trek back up to the main house._

"_I am still curious, though… you really haven't given any thought to who you'd want as a mentor or what kind of work you'd like to do?"_

"_Not really. I mean, I'm not really good at much of anything and all the jobs are important, so I guess whoever'll take me," the boy replied._

_Negan stopped their progress up the hill, "First off, that is bullshit on multiple levels. One – while I won't say that everybody's good at something, I will say that, from what I've seen you do in the last few weeks, anyone would be fucking lucky to have you watch their back and you're half their fucking size. Two – saying all jobs are important is a sweet little bedtime story for people too stupid to do anything useful, and you're too smart to be falling for that shit. Some jobs are DEFINITELY more important than others, and some jobs are WAY more fun than others, and someone like you, with your bad-ass fighting potential AND the fact that you were just willing to go toe to toe with me to look out for your family, you're gonna have folks lined up for miles wanting to say they got to mentor a cool kid like you. You're going to have your pick of any assignment you want. It's one thing not to know what you want – good, even, let the offers pour in, take your time weighing your options. But don't go selling yourself short, kid."_

"_So, I can just… wait? Like, I can get the thousand walkers and just, not pick a job?"_

"_Did someone tell you, you had to pick right away?" Negan sounded ready to swing Lucille at the thought._

"_No, sir, it just seemed like that's what everyone did. And I want to contribute, you know, do my part," Tim added._

"_Going to school and learning how you can contribute better IS contributing." He ruffled Tim's hair with an easy affection. "World's gonna try and swallow your fun free-time up fast enough, don't go rushing it. Now, having said that, you seriously don't have any idea what you want to be when you grow up?"_

_Tim pursed his lips and then shrugged his shoulders. "Sorry, Mr. Negan."_

"_Don't be sorry, just be thinking. Come on, just between you and me," Negan leaned down conspiratorially, "You don't have your eye on ANYTHING in that storehouse? 'Cause there are some super-cool toys in there."_

"_Well…" Tim dragged out, "Can this be something else you don't tell my Mom?"_

"_My hand to God," Negan raised Lucille over his head, "The Doc will not hear this from me."_

_Daryl watched Beth roll her eyes, "Honestly," she muttered. "It's like he can't help himself." But Daryl also noticed the shadow of a grin on her face. To tell the truth, his mind was a little more at ease knowing the kid wasn't trying to get his hands on a gun and risk him going too trigger-happy the way Carl had at the prison._

"_There is one thing," Tim's voice continued over the walkie-talkie, growing cautiously more excited as he explained, "On the back wall, there's this double-bladed staff that comes apart in the middle so it can be either two shorter swords or one long one that's dangerous on both ends. I don't think I could use it yet, maybe after I'm a bit taller, and I'd need a lot of practice and someone to teach me, but it looks really cool! There's nothing else like it in the whole armory," he was almost breathless with enthusiasm before looking crestfallen, "Someone else'll probably snatch it up, though, and, even if they don't, it's a lot more points than I'll ever have."_

"_Oh, you never know," Negan hedged, "Ol' Nick Brommer might be a crotchety son of a bitch when it comes to runnin' that armory, but he's been known to wheel and deal now and again. I imagine you could come up with some way of bartering work or favors to make up for however short you are on points after Operation: Surprise Mom."_

_They were close enough now that Tim's rueful grin was clear through the porch's mesh screen windows, "Thanks, Mr. Negan, but no… I won't even have close to half the cost after, you know" he tugged at his jacket to wordlessly refer to the leather vest, "and there's no way he'd want to make a bargain no matter how many favors I promised."_

_Negan stopped their progress again, "Just how much is Dwight asking for?" He kept his voice deliberately casual but there was a tightness in his stance that belied his relaxed tone._

_Tim must have picked up on it as he toed nervously at the dirt and couldn't quite meet Negan's eyes, "900."_

"_I'm sorry, I either mis-heard you or temporarily lost my goddamned mind. Exactly how much is one of my Saviors charging a ten-year-old boy for a second-hand, weathered and old-as-fuck leather vest with raggedy-ass wings coming unstitched from the back and bullet holes in both sides that doesn't even rightly belong to him in the first place, but actually belongs to said boy's mother?"_

"_Oh, for Pete's sake, if I've told him once, I've told him a thousand times, I don't want that kind of language around here," Nicole had made her way to the porch and gathered around the hand-held radio, but Beth waved her comments off, back stiff and mouth set in the same determined frown Daryl had seen seconds before she cussed him out at the moonshine shack all those years ago. Truth be told, he wasn't far behind her in the anger department._

"_Please don't," Tim softly begged. "I don't want to make trouble. I asked, and Mr. Anders set a price, and I agreed to it, and that's that."_

"_Boy, a coat like mine, fully lined and, may I add, an actual whole damned leather jacket instead of a couple of flimsy scraps laced together, would go for less than half that in the market stalls. Are you honest-to-God going to stand there and tell me that you think that's fair? We don't cheat," They were close enough now that Negan's last declaration carried across the yard to the adults on the porch without the radio's help._

"_I'm gonna kill him," Beth vowed._

"_No, you're not," Daryl started to dismiss, but she swiftly cut him off._

"_Don't you tell me what I can and can't do, Daryl Dixon. That man is selfish and petty and bitter, and he's takin' it out on MY child, and –"_

_The radio crackled, "It's not cheating, Mr. Negan." Tim's face was pale and he didn't look up._

"_Excuse me? Are you seriously about to stand here and tell me I don't know my own rules? Keep in mind, I'm on your side, but I am also one pissed off motherfucker right now," the man warned._

_To his credit, Tim held his ground even though his whole small frame was tensely trembling, "It's only cheating if someone feels like they've been cheated. We set a price and I said yes. So it's not cheating."_

_Negan stepped into the boy's personal space, "Look me in the eye, right now, and tell me that scrap of dyed cow skin is worth more than practically anything else in all the Sanctuary."_

_It took Tim several seconds to raise his chin, "It's worth it to us. Maybe not to anyone else, but that vest is worth it to her, so it's worth it to me."_

"You gotta let Tim work it out on his own," Daryl brought his thoughts back to the present, eye-balling the width of the garden tarp strips as he cut them down to what he thought would fit the chain-link fence. "Know ya can't stand a bully, 'specially a grown-ass man goin' after a kid, but Tim wants to feel like he's doin' somethin', and he ain't gonna want to be the kid whose mama fights his battles for him."

"When did you get so wise?" Beth teased gently.

He shrugged, "Don't know about raisin' kids. Do know somethin' about fightin' for what's yours, knowing folks don't think you're worth shit."

"So I just stand back and let Dwight be a jerk to him?"

"Just a damned vest." Daryl tried to scoff as if it didn't matter, but he knew that Beth saw through it.

"A vest your brother gave you. The last thing you have that he gave you."

Daryl nodded in acknowledgement. "Yeah. Ain't worth takin' shit over, though, if you go raisin' Hell and Dwight gets called out." Beth opened her mouth in what he could see from her expression was going to be a protest, so he cut her off, "Look, do you care about Tim havin' all those point things?"

"No, not really."

"And ain't ya tryin' to get all kinds of folks openin' up to ya more than they already do so we can sort out all this shit and maybe find some kinda way out for our family?"

"Yes," she reluctantly let out.

"Then maybe let this one go. Kid wants to feel like he can stand on his own. Ain't hurtin' nothin' to let him. And Negan knows and is pissed, and whatever else I think of the miserable fucker, he ain't the type to let anything slide, so he's probably gonna sort this out his own way without you havin' to let on that you ever knew what Tim was tryin' to do for ya. But if you go gettin' involved, kid ain't gonna thank you for it."

"I know," she admitted with a hint of a whine, "Don't mean I gotta like it, though."

Daryl stretched his legs out and used his foot to playfully nudge her own. "You really like it that much, claimin' my wings for yourself?" he asked with a half-grin.

Beth's eyes twinkled in the lamp-light, "It's where I first got to hug ya, kinda got attached to 'em."

Daryl let himself smile more fully as he teased, "Probably look better on you anyhow."

Beth quietly laughed in return before changing the subject, "Hey, two full weeks back and not a single night terror from Liam, I think maybe we're finally passed 'em."

"Kid probably just needed a vacation," Daryl mused, "Was good for you, too, you're different there, ain't wound so tight."

"I do like it there," she softly agreed. "Feels like home used to. Nice to just think about family and farmin' and such. Maybe not for all the time, even Daddy didn't do that much Bible studyin'."

Daryl snorted softly, "'s a bit much. They're good people, though. And they really care about ya." With a meaningful glance to the closed door, Daryl dropped his voice even softer as he relayed what Caiman had offered in terms of sheltering their family if it came to it.

Beth considered for several minutes before offering her thoughts, "I don't want everyone fightin'. But I got a feelin' we can't avoid it."

Daryl nodded and paused, thinking it over and choosing his words, "You were right. I mean, I knew you weren't _wrong_, but..." he swallowed. "I looked in the book, in the Crypt, at the folks who died at the outpost. Ain't pictures of all of 'em, but some… Some of 'em, I know we let go. Sent 'em off into the woods after one stepped up and said he was Negan, but they're in that book all the same. So someone went out there, caught 'em, killed 'em, and brought 'em back to the satellite station so Negan would find their bodies and blame us for all of 'em. Don't change what we done, I know that now, but it weren't just us. And whoever else it was, they ain't done yet."

Beth nodded, her expression grave and slightly fearful. "What else? Somethin' else is got you upset."

Daryl shook his head, not in denial, but trying to tell her without words that he wasn't ready to talk about it. Someday, maybe, he'd tell her, try to unburden some of his guilt at the realization, or maybe more the acceptance, that he'd done something he'd always thought was beyond him, killing the innocent, even without meaning to. But not yet.

Beth seemed to understand, "Well, the sooner we get to the bottom of this, the better. On that note, how are you at puzzles?"

"The kind you put together on a rainy day or the people kind?"

"The people kind. You remember the meetin' where Negan punished Parker Hawkins for stealin'?"

"Kinda hard to forget, why?"

"That night, Aaron and I both noticed this lady, Ruby Lassiter. I don't know her, just seen her around. But she looked, I dunno, like she was hurtin' somethin' awful. And I got the feelin' that maybe her husband had somethin' to do with it."

"Thought Negan took that kind of shit seriously around here."

"Oh, he does. Anybody who comes in goes through my hospital wing and gets checked from head to toe, any bruises or anythin' else outta place, whoever's checkin' 'em in notes it. Got a whole set of questions we ask, explain the rules and punishments, give folks a chance to walk back out if they think they can't live by 'em. Ain't no way we're lettin' a known wife-beater or child abuser in, whoever let 'em slide past the medical exam would be in just as much trouble with Negan as the one doin' the abusin'. So if somethin's happened, it's been since after they got here. Thing is, I didn't get a chance to check on her before we left for the farm. So I asked Dr. Carson, and he said he took care of it."

"And?"

Beth chewed on her bottom lip in consternation, "He says there was nothin' wrong with her, gave her a thorough exam, made sure her husband was nowhere nearby so she could say somethin' if she needed to. Nothin'. Thing is," she leaned forward on her elbows, "I saw her at lunch, she's all pale, upset-lookin', arms wrapped around her middle, and when she got up, she's carryin' herself all stiff and measured, like she's hurtin' but don't wanna let on. So I made my excuses for takin' so long introducin' myself, askin' if she's alright, if she needed any kind of follow-up after her visit with Dr. Carson the other week. At first she acted like she didn't know what I was talkin' about before suddenly 'rememberin'' that, yes she had seen the doctor but swearin' everythin' was fine. I checked her file, Daryl. Other than when she first came into the Sanctuary back in December, there's nothin'. Emmett lied. And then she lied about it, too. And I can't figure why. I know it probably ain't got nothin' to do with… you know… everythin'… but why say you saw a doctor if you didn't?"

Daryl hedged, deliberately holding back while still trying to get the point across, "Some folks, if they've got shit goin' on behind closed doors, they get real good at hidin' it, and even better at lyin' to keep it covered up."

Beth nodded to show she understood what he was getting at, "Alright, but why would Dr. Carson lie? What good does that do?"

Daryl shook his head, "To tell the truth, I ain't all that good at any kind of puzzles."

* * *

Spencer thrust forward and pressed his forehead to Rosita's for several seconds before pulling out and flopping down on his side of the bed with a self-satisfied sigh.

_At least one of us enjoyed himself._ Rosita grabbed the damp washcloth she'd stashed by the bedside earlier that evening. _That's the trouble with the good-looking ones, too full of themselves and completely unteachable_, she thought as she discretely cleaned herself up. _And he better not've gotten me pregnant – what part of 'pull out' is so fucking hard to wrap your head around?_

"You okay, babe?" he asked, chest heaving and eyes fixed on the darkened ceiling. "I wasn't too rough with you?"

"Oh, I think I can handle you," she quipped in her best flirty drawl.

She listened as Spencer got his breathing back under control. "Hey, we're good, right?" he asked.

"Yeah, why?"

"I mean, you would tell me if, you know, you were… rethinking things."

Rosita turned on her side and tucked an arm under her head, "Where are you going with this?"

Spencer turned over to face her, "You and Abraham – you'd tell me if you were thinking about getting back together with him?"

Rosita sneered, "You heard about him stopping by." She rolled her eyes, "Trust me, I am _so_ done with him. _He_, on the other hand, without saying as much, wants to keep his options open."

Spencer was appropriately disgusted, "Behind Sasha's back? What a dick."

"I know, and what's worse? He tried to use Eugene's death as some kind of pitiful excuse to pull me back in."

"You tell him off?"

Rosita frowned, "No." She took a deep breath before finding Spencer's eyes in the dark room, "To be honest, I'm worried he's going to do something stupid. Just because I'm not keeping my options open – and I'm definitely _not_ – doesn't mean I want him to shut the door." She shook her head slightly, "You know, one of the things I used to love about Abraham was his hot-blooded nature, the adventure of it all. But this is our home, our lives, and with the Saviors… we can't go throwing everything away on one of his temper tantrums."

Spencer nodded, his expression grim, "You're too smart for him, you know that?" She started to shake her head but he reached out and placed his palm against her cheek to stop her, "You are." He snorted and shook his own head slightly, "I heard him and Rick plotting right outside the window a couple of weeks ago."

"Where was I?" she interrupted.

"You had watch that night. They made some kind of pact where, if Rick can't get Negan to give up Maggie's location or some kind of proof of life then he'll turn Abraham loose to attack. As if Rick could ever negotiate with someone like Negan, it's just one bad decision after another with him. They're both going to get us killed," Spencer groused. "We wouldn't be in this position if my Mom were here. And I'm my mother's son – I should be in charge, I should be the one negotiating with Negan."

Rosita pushed herself up on her elbow, "You think he would listen to you."

"I know he would. I've spent my whole life around the law and politics, I know the right tactics, the angles for dealing with people like him. And you and me together laying the groundwork… We can't change what's happened, we have to focus on the now, on the big picture. You know, I'm glad he took our guns – can you imagine what bullheaded idiocy Abraham would be cooking up if he had an arsenal to work with? I just wish I'd been here when the Saviors did it, I would have given them Dad's old bullet press, built up some goodwill and set the foundation for a future relationship. Now, it's been too long, it could look like I was trying to hide it from them, could send the wrong message."

Rosita kept her tone deliberately casual, "I didn't know you had one."

Spencer waved it off, "Some of the partner's at Aiden's old firm were duck-hunting enthusiasts, so Dad and Aiden got the press as part of a networking strategy, you know, tag along on a few hunts, invite them over for drinks afterwards. Neither of them were ever really into it, I think they only used the press a couple of times before everything went down. I doubt Rick even knows about it."

"Maybe we should get rid of it. Like you said, we don't want Negan thinking we aren't fully on board, screw with your negotiations," Rosita suggested.

Spencer shrugged, "I'm not even sure where it is to tell you the truth. Dad lent it to Tobin ages ago, before you all got here, pretty sure he never asked for it back."

"Don't you think we should?"

"No, we don't want it here. And if I ask him about it, Tobin's crush on Carol might get him thinking he should give it to Rick or Abraham as a favor to her, assuming she ever makes it back."

Rosita nodded, "I can ask. Even if Tobin thinks it's fishy and goes to Rick about it, all I have to do is tell Rick I'm worried Abraham might jump the gun and don't want to risk breaking down whatever deal he's got with Negan. It's the truth, or close enough."

Spencer pulled her in for a kiss and smiled, "You and me, babe, the two of us are going to save Alexandria and my parents' legacy."

_Yes we are,_ Rosita thought to herself as she settled back on her pillow and thought back on the plans and the secret stash Abraham had revealed to her a few hours before, _My gun, Abraham's spent bullet casings, and now your Dad's bullet press… just a few missing pieces, and Abe and I might actually pull this off._

* * *

The next morning, Daryl watched from the other side of the fences as Charlie Preston shuffled out to his beehives and stopped abruptly, staring, before reaching out and brushing his fingers along the tarp strips that now blocked the walkers from seeing into the compound. The old man looked around with wary suspicion, eyes finally landing on Daryl, who held his gaze for a brief moment before dropping his chin and returning his attention to stirring up the rest of the chained walkers. As he passed back through the gate and started to make his way to the Crypt for yet another day of tedious scrubbing, the grizzled old farmer moved to block his path. He never said a word, just locked his eyes with Daryl, gave the tiniest of chin thrusts in acknowledgement, and then moved on as if nothing had happened. To Daryl, it was enough.

* * *

**I know I don't really deserve them after making you wait so long for an update, but please review if you liked it, and please review if you didn't. **


	17. Chapter 17

**A new and improved version of Chapter 17, with Chapter 18 very soon to follow...**

* * *

Chapter 17: Red Sky at Morning, Part I

It wasn't often that Daryl was woken from a sound sleep. That would require sleeping soundly, a dangerous concept even in his childhood and definitely nowadays. He'd had times where he passed out, either from a bad beating or pure exhaustion. And then there had been nights on the road with Beth, once he'd come to trust her not only with his emotions but also with his safety (at least for a few hours of keeping watch). Then four straight nights in a row at the Lykins farm, once he'd settled into things, but that could be chalked up to the luxury of sleeping on a soft surface under a warm blanket with the smells and sounds of calm spring nights coming in from the yard and woods beyond the screened-in porch after weeks of being shut in a damp concrete box with nothing but the stench of his own filth.

Negan's incessant pounding on the cell door with Lucille startled him, though, and he barely had time to pull himself into a half-sitting position before said door was jerked open and the man himself was stepping into the already-cramped space to tower over his prisoner.

"Up and at 'em! You're with me today, yes sir-ree, big plans for you this fine morning!"

It was a good thing he slept fully clothed, shoes included, because Negan didn't even give him time to take a piss before hauling him out of the cell and using Lucille to prod him down the hall and out to the garage. _The Hell's he in such a damn hurry for?_

Daryl wasn't the only one curious about Negan's self-imposed rush. Simon's face was openly confused as he watched Daryl load crates of goods into the cargo-hold of one of the smaller U-Hauls per Negan's instructions.

"We got a trade meet I forgot about, boss?" he inquired.

"Nah," Negan returned with a casual ease, "Just making a run to the Kingdom. Didn't bother with you with it since I know they're not exactly your favorite folks to deal with. Besides, you've got more than your fair share on your plate already, keeping Hilltop in line. You and your boys deserve a break." He clapped a hand on Simon's shoulder and looked him in the eye with a serious expression, "Don't think I don't know that. Don't think for one fucking second I don't know how you've had my back with all this shit."

Simon held his gaze as he nodded, "Always." Daryl watched as Negan held the meaningful look for a moment longer before giving Simon's shoulder a squeeze and pulling his face back into its usual toothy grin.

"Do me a favor? Babysit Daryl for a hot minute while I kiss my wives goodbye? King Dreds gets a real stick up his ass if I don't give him the proper time and attention, and I'mma need _something _good to think about while he yaps my ear off."

Daryl kept his head down and loaded the last of the boxes as Negan strolled away, his sing-song whistling fading on the wind. Simon waited for the definitive slam of the factory door before rounding on Daryl, cornering him against the U-hall's side paneling.

"What's in the crates?" he demanded.

Daryl kept his chin tucked down but his eyes alertly marking the approaching members of Simon's preferred crew, effectively boxing him in. Silently, he shrugged his shoulders, genuinely not knowing, or caring, about the truck's contents.

"Show me."

Daryl didn't see any reason to earn himself a beat-down by not complying. He pulled box after box down from where he'd stacked them and lined them up at the edge of the truck's back opening. Simon and one of his men lightly pawed through each one, always careful not to move anything around too much and putting it back the way they found it, before shoving each crate back towards Daryl to re-pack at the back of the cargo hold.

As Daryl climbed down from the truck to stand in front of Negan's right-hand man again, Simon stared him down, head cocked to the side as if considering both the man in front of him and his next words.

But whatever Simon might have wanted to say to Daryl was cut off by the factory door slamming open, Negan striding towards the group with a notable bounce in his step, Lucille swinging at his side.

"Come on, chauffeur, let's get on the road, burning fucking daylight!"

Negan might have made a show of just how routine this delivery trip was in front of the other Saviors, but as soon as the cabin that served as a Sanctuary security check-point was no longer visible in the side-view mirrors, Negan dropped his boots from the dashboard, sat up straight in the truck's bench seat, and directed Daryl to change both road and direction. It didn't take long for him to figure out that the old country road they were now on would take them towards the coast.

Daryl was tempted to ask if they were going back to the group of women Negan had introduced after the first run to Alexandria, but Negan had been uncharacteristically silent since passing through the Sanctuary's gates, even keeping the music off.

The woods had thinned out to open fields and the dirt was visibly sandy by the time Negan finally broke the tense quiet, "You been enjoying yourself these past few days? More importantly," he continued, his voice in its usual rhythmic cadence but his grin toned down to what would pass for a normal person's smile, "do you understand why I made you do it?"

Daryl knew he was referring to the cleaning job in the Sanctuary's Crypt. "Yeah." He chewed absently on the inside of his cheek as he debated how much to share, finally opting for a casual, "Wanted me to see 'em as people."

"Fuck that," Negan dismissed, "And fuck you if that's all you got out of it. I already know you aren't the murdering type. Oh, you can kill easy enough, sure, but a cold-blooded murderer you are most certainly fucking not," he confidently declared. "So try again. Other than me wanting to seriously piss you off, and believe me, the visible agitation in your whole goddamned demeanor every time you trudged out of there has definitely been a big fucking bonus for me, why did I make you waste the last four days of your life?"

"Ya figure by now Beth's told me how y'all see things, what went down at the outpost and all. And it don't fit with what you've figured 'bout me, like ya said, I ain't the kind to kill for fun. And Rick, Michonne, all the rest, they ain't like that, either. Looked in the book," Daryl revealed, "at the pictures. I remember their faces, and we didn't kill 'em all. Some of 'em, I know for sure, we rounded up, talked to 'em, and then let 'em go."

"How many did you and your people kill?" Negan was all business now.

"Don't know for sure," Daryl admitted. "Fire bombs were supposed to just flash over and be done, shouldn't've been anybody caught by the flames, just scared enough to run outside. We wanted as many alive as we could manage, only way to know for sure if we'd got you. Didn't stop to count how many got killed once they came out those doors. Ten, though, ten we definitely set loose. Did it myself."

"Because you thought I was dead."

"One of 'em stepped up and said he was Negan, didn't know ya had everyone callin' themselves that. 's what Gregory wanted. We kill you, we get half the harvest for a year. Could save the seeds from that to get our own crops goin' again. Just tryin' to keep people alive. 's all it ever was."

"Amazing how a little desperation will have folks doing things they never thought they'd do," Negan quirked.

Daryl swallowed and took a breath before softly mumbling, "If ya found out who killed the others, the ones we let go…"

"Beth told you, didn't she?"

Daryl nodded.

Negan huffed, annoyed, "Didn't dawn on her that maybe I went to the trouble of having that little private pow-wow with her in the one place I knew we couldn't be eavesdropped on precisely because I didn't want anyone else knowing this shit? No, of course she's gotta tell you! It occur to either one of you that your little box isn't exactly fucking soundproof? That shutting that door for privacy's sake means that any fucker who wants to can stand out there in that hallway and listen to every goddamned word without you knowing? Fuck's sake, I've eavesdropped on you. More than once."

"She didn't tell me 'til we were at the farm," Daryl defended. "No one was around to hear. She ain't stupid. And y'all ain't as quiet as ya think ya are in that hallway."

That was enough to stop Negan's protests.

Daryl pressed again, "We do what ya want, and ya find out who's been workin' with Gregory to get rid of you, take over for themselves, will you back off Alexandria?"

"I told you, and I fucking meant it: no matter how this turns out, Rick is never going to get you back."

"Ain't said that," Daryl tapped the breaks so he could turn and look Negan in the eye, "I said I'll stay, and I'm stayin'. Said I'd work, so I'm workin'. And I ain't leavin' her, never again. None'a that makes the folks in the Safe Zone any less important, to me or to her."

Negan grinned, "Good God damn, but I wish I could worm my way between your ears to get a first-hand look at what kind of fucked-up logic has twisted its way around your good sense! First you left her for dead, now you can't live without her, but you won't live with her, and that's before we even bring your rugrats into the equation. Are they yours, are they not? You didn't even ask about them when we first talked. But you can't say you don't like kids after I've seen how crazy little Judith is about you. Maybe it's just your kids you don't like? The hell's going on up there in that fucking head of yours? For the life of me, I cannot fucking figure you out and it's driving me fucking nuts!"

Seemingly spent, Negan pulled back and took a breath, "Alright. Let's say it all works out aces for me, I find the fuckers in my own camp who thought they could take what's mine, set your people up as the fall guys, and Lucille has her merry way with them and all is once again right in my corner of the world. You think it's all kittens and rainbows from there? Your people still killed my people. Maybe not as many as I originally thought, but you still did it. Yeah, somebody steered you wrong, but the motherfucking fact is, you went there and did what you did. Nobody held guns to your heads, made you set off those homemade firecrackers, or any of the other shit that followed. That is a debt your people need to square up. But you're right. Context. Intent. Those things matter, should be taken into account. So, yeah, once I get what I want, I could see my way to easing up, cutting back on their expected offerings, considering the circumstances. Fair enough?"

Daryl nodded. It would have to do.

"Then would you kindly stop making us late? These women are already gonna be pissed as all hell when they see you coming back."

Daryl put the truck in gear and started down the road, "Then why'd ya bring me?"

"I imagine they're going to ask the same damned thing, and I'm only explaining myself once today."

"Simon looked in the crates, after you left," Daryl changed topics.

"I know," Negan revealed, "I was watching from the window. Could mean nothing. Simon gets a little high-strung when he isn't in the know. Could mean everything. He and his boys pretty much had full run of things until your darling wife came along and convinced me to go all fair and shit, 'the rules are for everyone'. And he's had damn-near-exclusive control of Hilltop since their fuck-up."

"What'd they do?" Daryl put the question out there that had been bothering him for weeks now. Because even Beth had dodged the query when he'd brought it up with her, and he hadn't seen reason to go there again if she wasn't up to it. But he had to know – what had Hilltop done that was so damned awful that everything had spiraled this far out of control?

"Pull up like you did before," Negan ignored the question to Daryl's consternation, "but go ahead and shut off the engine. We'll need to split up what goes here and what's meant for the Kingdom, and I sure as shit ain't hauling those boxes when I've got my handy-dandy Daryl to do it for me."

* * *

It wasn't every day that her katana went missing. Actually, there was never a day when Michonne didn't know exactly where it was. An extension of herself since she came across it, and more-so since losing her baby boy, Michonne might have preferred to keep it at rest on the mantle, but that didn't mean she wasn't keenly aware of its presence. And the way things were now with the Saviors, every blade was a precious form of defense, but most especially hers.

It hadn't gone far, she knew, and she was all but certain who had lifted it from its resting place. It didn't mean she wasn't slightly dismayed to find Carl using her beautiful sword to angrily hack away at the juniper bushes growing along the side of their house.

"I didn't know you wanted to learn," she mused, choosing a relaxed stance.

Carl at least had the good grace to look slightly guilty and stop damaging the shrubbery (and potentially her blade).

"Sorry," he added after a beat, still holding the katana. He busied his hands by wiping the blade clean with the end of his t-shirt. "We need new ways of fighting. Until we get our guns back, I mean. And maybe even then."

"I agree. If you're serious about this," Michonne reached for her blade, "I'll train you. And if we can't find one like this, we'll look into adapting something else. But until then, maybe lay off killing one of our better medical herbs?"

From the slightly widened eyes and deeper frown, Michonne guessed that thought hadn't crossed her step-son's mind.

She stepped closer to him, "I get it, I really do. But right now, patience is the best weapon we have."

"That doesn't make it a good one," Carl countered, "It's not right, you know it's not!"

"I know, and I agree with you." Michonne sighed. "It's not losing our guns that's holding us back. We're survivors. We're the ones who live. We do that because we're strong, and we're strongest when we're together. With everything we do, we have to consider the ones who aren't with us and how that – "

"And what if this is as together as we're going to get?" his interruption stopped Michonne short.

"Carol's gone, we don't know where. Morgan's gone, we don't know where," Carl started listing off. "And they might come back tomorrow, or months from now, or not at all. Maggie's gone, and even if she weren't, she is sick, or was sick… Whether Negan's telling the truth doesn't matter, because she's got a baby inside her and shouldn't be fighting anyway. Aaron's a good guy but he can't help us where he is. And Daryl…" Carl trailed off for a moment. "This is killing him. _Negan's_ killing him."

"You don't know – "

"Yeah, I do. I'm not a little kid, and I'm not stupid. We lose people. Even strong people that we thought would always be there. T-Dogg, and Andrea, and Hershel… and we could lose Daryl, too. You saw him, last week, on his knees the whole time like even the Saviors knew he wasn't strong enough anymore. And they didn't bring him at all the week before. How much longer before… It's like Negan knows, if he breaks Daryl, he breaks all of us."

Privately, Michonne agreed with Carl. It had been enough of an itch under her skin watching Negan parade Daryl around, observing the normally proud and stubborn man bow his head and shuffle along. She hadn't been prepared for how freshly it would dig at her emotions to see him last week, pulled from the back of the truck instead of stepping down on his own accord, then pushed to his knees in the middle of the road. And that was it, really, just made to kneel there in silence, with everyone giving him a wide berth and the Saviors doing all the lifting of their goods into the trucks. But it was too reminiscent of their experience the night Eugene died, too many questions that never got answers. Why wasn't Negan making him work? Was Daryl on his knees just as a visual reminder of that night? Or had he been beaten, injured in some way that even Negan didn't want to risk revealing through too much movement? Or was Daryl alright (relatively, for being Negan's prisoner), and there was nothing behind it all except Negan wanting to fuck with their emotions? No one could be sure, especially after Daryl's conspicuous absence the week before, and it had unsettled Michonne in ways she hadn't expected. Carl, too, it seemed. But they couldn't afford to have him losing his temper with the Saviors around.

"You're right, about a lot of things. And I know you're not stupid, and your Dad knows it, too. And yes, of all the people Negan's taken from us, Daryl is the one I'm most worried about. But you know who else isn't stupid?" She made sure she had Carl's full attention before continuing. "Negan. He's planning on keeping us all under his boot for years to come. He knows, if he kills Daryl, this soon and when we're all trying to follow his rules, yeah, it would break us down a little more than we already are, but it would also fire us up, because then we'd know for sure that there was no way for us to live with the Saviors. And Negan is not going to risk that. What Negan needs is to keep us questioning. Questioning ourselves, questioning what is happening or will happen to the people we love, and questioning him most of all."

Michonne was going to continue but Carl's gaze pulled away from her, forcing her to turn to see what was more interesting than their conversation. Even with her view limited, she observed first Rosita and Abraham walking with a casual gait that was too forced to be coincidence, before slipping into Tobin's garage and easing the sliding door down. _The Hell are they up to?_

From Carl's expression, he had a similar question in mind. Michonne forced herself to push her thoughts down and focus. "Look, you want to fight. I want to fight, too. And we're probably not the only ones getting impatient. But a _lot_ needs to happen before we do. Because when we fight, we're going to win. And we're going to win because we're going to do it together."

"Do they know that?" Carl asked, tipping his head towards Tobin's garage.

"Abraham's too proud a soldier to go diving into a fight without a battle plan," Michonne observed, while privately planning to say something to Rick the first chance she got, "My guess is that their secret get-together is less about strategy and more about, ah, romance."

"But he's with – and she's…" Carl trailed off, finally putting two and two together. "Oh."

"Uh, huh," Michonne nodded.

"Should we say something to Sasha and Spencer?"

Michonne draped her arm casually over Carl's shoulder and began leading him back into the house, "My friend, let me give you some advice that will save you many years-worth of unnecessary drama and stress. Never, ever, get involved in other people's relationships. You want to worry about someone's love life? Focus on your own."

"I don't have a love life."

"Good for you," Michonne quipped, giving a knowing smile and nod to Rick as they entered the kitchen. "Ain't nothing but trouble."

* * *

They weren't even a third of the way through sorting the goods when the group of women burst from the trees, every bit as angry as predicted.

"You want him dead or something? We told you, no one else but you."

Negan kept sorting as if it didn't bother him in the slightest to be poked by the sharpened tip of the spear. "It's not safe to travel alone these days."

"Bullshit, it's never stopped you before," the woman challenged.

"You planning to kill us, or can we move this the fuck along, get the goods swapped out, yada-yada, blah-blah-fucking-blah? I do have other places to be today." The women didn't seem to know how to respond to Negan's lack of concern for their raised weapons.

Daryl watched from inside the cargo hold as Negan finally turned to face her, "The situation has changed. Or at least become clearer. I have reason to believe the bastards who attacked your people may be gearing up for another run at things."

"We never thought they left."

"I had." Negan leaned against the back of the truck, "I've got connections at nearly two dozen communities, and nearly twice that in my own outposts. From the mountains to the coast, from the suburbs of DC to fucking Raleigh, North Carolina, and _no one_ has ever gone through what you and yours did. We find pockets of survivors who have gone through some horrible shit, to be sure. But nothing like what happened at Briar's Creek."

"But you think they've come back," the leader frowned, having eased off her initial combative stance. From his limited vantage point, Daryl could see the other women sharing uneasy glances, some angry, others fearful at Negan's warning.

"I think they may have been under my nose the whole time," he acknowledged. "I think, after laying low for as long as they have, our common enemy may finally be itching to show their ugly asses and are now trying to close in."

After a beat, he pointed a gloved finger at Daryl, "The time may come when I can't make these little visits. Quite frankly, I value my own safety over the pleasure of your company," he grinned, "I brought him here so you could all get a good look, and remember him. He is the only person I've told about you or this place. And he is the only person I would consider sending in my place. Maybe his wife, but she wouldn't come without him. Anyone else comes out here, no matter what name they use, they're not mine."

The women nodded in understanding. "You planning on dying, then, that you wouldn't be coming out here anymore?"

"Fuck, no," Negan grinned widely, "I've got big, big plans for these sorry shits, and when things go the way I'm steering them, I'm gonna be gift-wrapping those motherfuckers for you, pretty little bows and all."

* * *

**Chapter 18 should be up by tomorrow night (sooner if I can get the editing done on the last scene!). **


	18. Chapter 18

**You all have no idea how long I've been anticipating what's coming in these next few chapters... so, here we go!**

* * *

Chapter 18: Red Sky at Morning, Part II

This wasn't how Jesus had intended to visit the Kingdom.

For several weeks, he'd been considering possible scenarios, how best to approach Ezekiel, assuming he was allowed through the gate at all. Dishonesty wasn't an option in his mind – the truth always had a way of making itself known and, in any case, a liar isn't part of who he is. So the question was how he could phrase the truth, what words would be best to get the most information out of the Kingdom-dwellers and, more importantly, to find out what happened to Maggie, perhaps even spend some time with her to verify for himself that she was indeed safe and faring well.

The one thing he hadn't considered in his musings was arriving at the Kingdom at the same time Negan did.

Jesus knew it was more probable than not that Negan and Ezekiel had some kind of connection – though what exactly it entailed and who it more greatly benefited, Jesus could only guess at. He was good at making inferences, though, and it spoke volumes, he thought to himself as he watched from a crouched position in the tree-line near the Kingdom's gate, that Negan felt safe and confident approaching the community with only a solitary delivery truck and entered the walled compound alone, leaving the truck's driver to wait in the vehicle. But it was a relationship to ponder another time, because Jesus was far more interested in the fact that said driver was Daryl, and, aside from being more-than-casually observed by the Kingdom security watch on their walls, no one was with him.

The approach wasn't easy, with the truck being out in the open, but Jesus hadn't snuck up on Rick and Michonne in their own home for nothing, hadn't gotten himself out of his binds and on top of a moving truck with Daryl and Rick doing their damnedest to get rid of him on dumb luck. Years of experience both before and after the world changed had taught him the power of stealth, and he used it now, easing his way and mindful that he didn't move the overgrown grasses by the roadside, lest their swaying attract the guards' attention. Even with the Kingdom's guards keeping their sights more on the truck's occupant than on the surrounding road and woods, Jesus was able to creep to the back of, and then along the side of the truck's white panel cargo-hold, careful to keep the bulk of the boxy vehicle between himself and the Kingdom's watchtower. It wasn't easy, but it was worth it to find himself crouching beside the driver-side door, where he could use the side-view mirror to see Daryl staring straight ahead through the windshield, gaze alternating between the closed gate and the guard on the wall.

_Come on, Daryl, you have to meet me half-way here,_ Jesus silently willed him to look in the mirror. _Use your hunter/tracker Spidey-senses and realize you're not alone out here._

Of course, the possibility existed that Daryl wasn't free to acknowledge him, either because he wasn't alone in the front of the truck (just because Negan got out didn't necessarily mean there wasn't a third traveler who was left behind to guard their prisoner), or because there were people in the truck's enclosed cargo hold – less likely for the lack of air-flow, but Jesus still wasn't willing to risk knocking on the truck's door or calling out.

_Look in the mirror, Daryl_, he silently pleaded in his mind as he shifted into a slightly better position. The change in stance put an increased strain on his thighs as he fought to maintain his stance, but his efforts paid off when he saw Daryl flinch slightly and clench his jaw, hooded eyes locked on the side-view mirror.

Now the trick was to make sure that Daryl was in fact alone in the truck. But how to do it? Jesus mentally debated his options before softly tapping the pads of his index and middle finger on the door panel. Daryl didn't speak, but he shifted his arm to rest on the edge of the open driver-side window and subtly returned the two-finger double-tap in acknowledgement. Jesus pointed to his own mouth: _Can we speak aloud?_

Daryl used the mirror to shield his hand from the Kingdom's watchtower even as he pointed in its direction and gave a minute shake of his head. It was enough for Jesus to pick up on; the Kingdom's guard was watching Daryl closely through the truck's front windshield and would notice if Daryl suddenly started speaking to seemingly no-one. But this was too critical an opportunity to pass up.

_Alright, we can see each other, but we can't talk, or, at least, Daryl can't._ While Jesus was busy contemplating how they could use the mirror to communicate, Daryl provided a solution. Easing his fingers onto the outside door panel, he discretely pointed back to Jesus and then casually wiped his own mouth before putting his hand back on the door, pointing to himself, and then gently tapping on the metal surface.

"I got it," Jesus softly murmured, "I talk, you tap. Two taps for yes, one for no?"

At the affirmative double-tap, Jesus grinned and nodded, the barely-audible gesture was all he needed.

"Are you alright?" Two taps. "Have you seen Aaron, and is he okay, too?" _Yes_ for both.

"Is Maggie here?" Daryl's hand visibly hesitated before offering a noticeably-less confident _yes_ than he'd given for the first two questions.

_Going to have to read between the lines a bit_. Trying for clarification, he rephrased his question, "Has Negan told you that Maggie is here?"

A more confident _Yes_ had Jesus nodding in understanding, "But you haven't seen her for yourself?" _Yes. _Jesus pressed a bit, "Do you believe him?" A microsecond's pause before _Yes._

"Rick seems to think you have some kind of deal that's protecting her, getting her food and medical care. Is that true?" Daryl's hand paused midair before finally giving the affirmative double-tap, but Jesus could see the tension and frustration in his reflected expression.

"Okay, I know that means something more complicated, I'm just not sure how to phrase things," Jesus pondered various scenarios before a clear, solitary tap from Daryl halted his thoughts.

"You want me to move on to something else?" he queried.

Double-tap. Jesus nodded in agreement – their time was limited and this method of conversing was enough of a barrier to sharing information.

"I'm here because I think Hilltop lied to me, and then put me in a position to lie to you. Hilltop, or at least Gregory, misrepresented his relationship with Negan – "

An emphatic double-tap of Daryl's fingers was loud enough to make both men freeze as the metallic sound carried on the otherwise empty road around them.

"I'm going to take that as you having gotten some kind of proof on your side," Jesus posited, and Daryl quickly tapped to confirm.

"Is it just Gregory, or were more involved? Was it one specific incident, or a series of somethings?" Jesus' questions got the better of him and Daryl had to put his hand in a firm 'stop' position to reign him back in.

"Sorry, I know, one at a time. Okay, let's do this true/false. Gregory lied." _Yes._

"Negan might have been right in punishing Hilltop." _Yes._ But then he quickly followed with a single tap.

"And Alexandria?" Here, Daryl paused, gave two minute taps, then wiggled his hand slightly.

"What I'm getting is maybe for both, yes?" Daryl confirmed, leaving Jesus to ponder the implications while knowing he didn't have long for this unexpected conversation.

"Do you have proof of something that makes you think the Saviors aren't the enemy we thought they were?" On this, Daryl answered more confidently, still as soft and small with his movements, but no hesitation.

"And you trust your source?" Definite _Yes_. Is the same as Aaron's?" Through the side-view mirror, he could see the quizzical look on Daryl's face, so he clarified, "Aaron has been able to write to Eric and Luke, and slip in a few coded messages. Not much, but he seems to have at least one friend inside the Sanctuary that he thinks would be more on his side than Negan's if it came to a fight."

Jesus wasn't sure how to read the expression in Daryl's face, but given their time constraints, he took the tapped-out _yes_ for what it was.

"We were set up at the outpost," Daryl's mumbled declaration startled Jesus, and he glanced with widened eyes towards the guard tower to notice what Daryl had already seen – the Kingdom's security watch was turned away from the truck. Daryl took advantage and continued, "The ones we let go that night, they all turned up dead, bodies brought back to the station so's it looked like we killed 'em all. Did you find that place yourself or did someone else tell you where it was first?"

"Gregory gave me general directions, said he overheard Simon and some of the others talking about it and the likelihood of Negan being there."

Daryl nodded, keeping his sharp gaze fixed on the still-distracted guard, "Need ya to get the names of the three guys from Hilltop who came with us that night."

Jesus frowned, "You think they doubled back?" Daryl shrugged. "The odds of us getting to talk again anytime soon are slim, unless Negan's got you making runs like this on a schedule – "

Daryl cut him off with a shake of his head, "Get 'em to Rick, tell him to get the names to Negan."

"The hell's that going to help?" Jesus was baffled.

"Ain't nobody at Hilltop's supposed to know about that outpost, Negan figures some of his guys are turnin' on him. Tell Rick, he can't let on why he's sharin' those names. Can't let him know we talked, or I'll lose – " Daryl cut himself off and subtly pointed back towards the Kingdom's walls. The guard's attention was focused back on the truck.

Jesus shifted to relieve the pins-and-needles feeling in his legs from the sustained crouch as he considered what else the two of them could exchange. "I came here because I've been inside the Kingdom before, and I'm hoping they'll let me in to talk with their leader, maybe see Maggie. Any of that going to compromise you?" _No_.

He took a breath before changing topics, "Rick is trying to keep the peace with Negan, at least until he can get the three of you back, but he's getting pressure from some, Abraham especially, who feels like our only chance of survival is to fight back. Abraham agreed to a month of sitting on the sidelines, but that was almost three weeks ago. If Negan doesn't provide some definitive proof of life for Maggie by then, Rick's going to let Abraham put together a battle plan."

_NO!_ Daryl's single tap was immediately followed by a restraining hand, and Jesus could see the increased tension in Daryl's eyes and jaw as he held himself back from speaking.

"Alright, message received, we shouldn't attack the Saviors," Jesus measured out in what he hoped was a calming tone. "But we also can't leave things as they are, for your sake if nothing else. Everyone's worried and, seeing you up close, so am I. Whatever it is you're thinking, does it include an escape for you?"

He could see Daryl gnawing on the inside of his lower lip before he finally wiggled his hand a bit. _Maybe._

Jesus wasn't mollified in the least, and started to rise up slightly on his haunches before making his case for Daryl's survival being more important, but Daryl began speaking again, the guard having turned his attention to something inside the Kingdom's walls, "You talk to Rick, ONLY Rick. Tell him we talked, and tell him I said y'all gotta keep the peace for now, 'cause we won't win. Gregory fucked up and Negan knows it, knows we ain't killed all those folks at the outpost, and if he gets the ones really responsible, things'll go easier for all of us. Tell him, there's a way outta all this, but he's gotta wait. Maggie's alright but she can't be goin' nowhere 'til the baby's born. If he's gonna push for someone comin' back, it can be Aaron, but not her. And not me."

"Daryl – " Jesus tried to interrupt, but Daryl wasn't having it.

"I ain't comin' back, no matter how this goes. Tell him – " the metallic squeal of the Kingdom's gates opening stopped both of them short. Negan was strolling casually through the opening with a clear bounce in his step, his whistle carrying on the breeze. They were out of time.

Daryl reached down, grabbed Jesus' shoulder with an intensity that surprised the normally unflappable man. "Tell Rick, what we said, in the woods after Terminus, tell him he was wrong."

Jesus could only hope Rick would understand Daryl's cryptic message as he silently slipped into the trees.

* * *

It took a moment for Negan's eyes to light on Maggie's silhouette where she stood on the edge of one of the Kingdom's raised garden beds. Not only was she much more obviously pregnant than the last time he'd seen her, but she wasn't alone. Standing with her, far too close for it to be accidental, was the dark-skinned figure with the wood staff he'd seen practicing on the balcony on his last visit. _How about that, two birds with one stone._ Negan almost couldn't believe his luck as he strolled with a light bounce in his step towards the unsuspecting pair.

"Well, hello, Ms. Maggie!" Negan crowed, "Ooh, just look at that baby bump! My goodness gracious, you have blossomed overnight!" He couldn't help grinning just a bit wider at the way she jerked and wrapped her arms over her rounded belly before mentally scolding himself, _Beth's sister, gotta play nice, at least for now._ Schooling his facial expression into one of soothing concern, he continued, "Now, now, there's no need for all that. I'm serious. You are absolutely gorgeous! I mean it. Some women, let's face it, they look every bit as ridiculous as they feel with their beach-ball bellies and waddling with every step. You never tell them that, of course, but… Not you. Healthy glow and everything… It suits you," he finished with a softness that was both genuine and intended to flatter.

Without giving her a chance to respond, Negan turned and offered his hand to the stranger he'd been so curious about, "My apologies, I don't believe we've met."

There was just the slightest hesitation before the man shifted his staff to his left hand in order to accept Negan's handshake, "Morgan. I know who you are." It wasn't said with malice, but just a slight edge, enough that both his tone and his body language set off warning bells in Negan's mind.

_He knows Maggie, not just from meeting her here. He knew her before, already trusted her. Is that why Ezekiel didn't want me meeting him last time – he's been making his own alliances with Alexandria behind my back?_ There wasn't enough information to go on, and Negan knew better than to jump to conclusions, but this was definitely an avenue worth exploring. When his outpost had been hit, the Kingdom had been the only other community within range to hear their radio call for help. Negan hadn't given it any consideration at the time, but now… maybe the Kingdom's soldiers were a little _too_ quick in getting to the carnage. Especially given what Daryl had just shared about the survivors. _Maybe my problems aren't home-grown. Maybe King Dreadlocks has grown a bit too high and mighty for his little Camelot._

He gave nothing away, however, just continued the conversation with an ease born out of natural people-skills and years of practice weaving verbal traps, "Is that a first or last name, Morgan?"

"Doesn't matter, just is," the enigmatic man replied.

Negan quirked an acknowledging grin, "Can't exactly argue with that. The Kingdom treating you well?"

"Me or her?"

"Both. There's an expectation of protection and care for Mrs. Margaret here and as for you," Negan paused, considering how to go about phrasing this, knowing it would likely make its way back to Ezekiel at some point, "Well, I must confess, I saw you practicing with that stick of yours the last time I visited, and I was _enthralled_. I mean, there I was talking with the King and there's a goddamned tiger walking next to me, but I could not take my eyes off you. I've seen a lot of fighting styles in my day. What you do, that's special. Unique. And unique interests me. The King tells me that you're a traveler, looking for a peaceful place to settle, and, hey, if you've found it, congratulations. Sincerely. But," Negan gave a meaningful glance around as if there were some grand secret he was hesitant to reveal, "if it turns out that this place isn't the promised land you thought it'd be… maybe we can help each other."

Morgan was skeptical but trying not to show it. Negan knew better. "I came here because I don't want to fight. Life is precious. All life."

"I'm not asking you to fight. And I would hope that Ezekiel hasn't asked that of you, either. And yet, the first time I laid eyes on you, you weren't exactly treating that staff like a walking stick." Negan quickly waved his hand dismissively to stave off both Maggie and Morgan's impending protests, "I'm not calling you out or anything, just making an observation. In an ideal world, these things we carry," he shifted his grip on Lucille but kept the barbed end deliberately aimed at the ground, "are for the dead only. But, as you say, you know who I am, which means you probably know that I haven't always been able to live up to that standard, and I'm guessing that a man who is going out of his way to make a new life for himself has experienced more than his share of violence. We don't need to make peace with ourselves unless we've been at war."

Negan could see his words landing emotional barbs with Morgan and chose to close his pitch, "I wasn't looking for a fighter, I was more interested in you as a potential teacher. See, like Maggie here, I have my own set of little lives that are particularly precious to me, and any advantage I can give them, I gotta at least try." He grinned, "And on that note, I do need to have the briefest of words with the lovely lady here. You're welcome to stick around, of course, nothing especially secretive or earth-shattering."

He let a pleasant smile disguise his active interest as Maggie and Morgan exchanged a meaningful look before Morgan made his excuses and left the two of them by the garden. Negan gestured towards the rocking chairs on a nearby porch, "Shall we?"

"I thought this was gonna be quick. Just say what you've got to say and get on with it," Maggie griped.

"Alright, alright, don't get your pretty knickers in a twist," Negan allowed himself another long leer at the genuinely beautiful woman in front of him now that Morgan wasn't there to judge him for it, "You really are absolutely fucking stunning. Your husband is missing out, not seeing you like this."

"Then take me home."

He clicked his tongue against his teeth and shook his head, "Can't do that. Gotta keep you and that baby growing healthy and strong, and Alexandria isn't exactly living high on the hog, are they? Hilltop hasn't been as generous as y'all might have hoped, and pickin's are slim. But it truly is a shame, you wear that baby bump really fucking well. Which I will be sure to pass along to your darling baby-daddy when I see him in a few days. Both he and tricky Ricky have been getting especially anxious about you, so… tell me something about Beth."

As he'd hoped, Maggie visibly started at the unexpected name-drop. "How do you know about her?"

"You told me you had a sister," he replied easily. "And I have Daryl. He doesn't share easily, mind you, but I can be very persuasive when I put my mind to it," he grinned wolfishly. _Let her think what she wants of that. Snarky bitch needs to remember who she's dealing with._

"What did you do to him?"

"Whatever I want. He's mine," Negan growled before pulling back, "Want to see for yourself? He's right outside the gate. Drove me here and everything."

"And you'd just let me talk with him?"

"You can talk _at_ him. Daryl doesn't speak without my fucking say-so. Now, about Beth…"

"Why do you want to know about her?" Maggie bristled.

"Like I said, your hubby is worried about you, starting to think that maybe you're not really tucked away safely. Nervous Nellies like him tend to do very stupid things when they're freaking the fuck out, and we don't want that, now, do we? So, tell me something that I couldn't possibly know unless you decided to share it with me."

"That's not any kind of proof of life. You obviously tortured her name out of Daryl," Maggie fired back, "What's to say anything I tell you couldn't have been gotten the same way."

"Then tell me something about her that even Daryl couldn't know. Although you might have really dig into the memory bank for that one."

"Why? It's not like he really knew her, they barely even spoke to each to each other…" She trailed off, "Did he tell you something different?"

Negan realized he must not be controlling his expression as well as he should be. _Understandable, given the fucking giant contradictions. How do two people who 'barely speak' end up married with four kids and big sister doesn't know it?_ But, to Maggie, he pushed himself to give nothing away, "Not so much in what he said, I just got the impression that he carries a fuck-ton of guilt around where she's concerned."

"Well, he should, he's the one who lost her!" Maggie blurted out, then, realizing what she'd said and who she'd said it to, wrapped her arms protectively around herself and stepped back.

Negan let her have the space. Anything to keep her talking now that her emotions were getting the better of her.

"Why was he responsible for her, if they didn't get along?" he asked, keeping the timber of his voice gentle and non-judgmental.

"She weren't even twenty years old, how was she supposed to fight off – no, we're not doing this! I'm _not_ gonna be the one to give you even more to use against him."

"Maybe he deserves it, failing to protect your baby sister after all. Although, that wasn't really his job, was it? Where were you, Big Sis, when poor defenseless little Bethie needed you most?"

Maggie physically recoiled, his accusing tone clearly striking a nerve. "Shut up! Just… you shut the, the f_uck_ up!" It took all Negan had not to chuckle at the way she stumbled over her words, put too much force behind her cursing; it reminded him of junior high kids trying to sound tough, using words they heard from older kids but having no real experience with foul language forbidden by their parents. _Someone really should teach her how it's done._

"My apologies, just trying to wrap my fucking head around your family dynamics," he put up his hand in a conciliatory gesture. "I know, 'fuck off, Negan, it's not my fucking business'… but I am still gonna need something to pass along to the folks back home. How 'bout a happy childhood memory? Something the two of you did as kids that you're planning on passing down to this little one?"

Another guilty expression, and he wasn't sure if it was guilt over giving in to his requests or the memories themselves, but at least this time she wasn't pulling away. It seemed that, for the moment, she was willing to open up, "I – we didn't have a lot in common. She was so much younger and always wantin' to be in the kitchen with her mama or in Daddy's clinic," she began justifying, "Shawn and I were closer in age and even though he was my step-brother, it was just easier, we liked doin' more of the same things, and Bethie was just…"

As Maggie trailed off, Negan nodded sagely, the picture forming more solidly in his mind. There were still a few holes, though. But before he could ask the questions that would help fill the gaps in his understanding, Maggie cut back in, "Don't nod like you know me, like you've got some kinda grand insight into who I am! You know what, we're done, I ain't doin' this. You go on back to Alexandria and you tell 'em whatever the hell you want. I hope they do fight you, I hope they do everythin' you're afraid of 'em doin', 'cause that's what this is," she asserted. "You know if you don't keep my family calm, keep 'em in line, and they fight back, they might just beat you! We can and we will, and the sooner we do, the better. Glenn's gonna find me just like he said he would. You think you can keep them away from me? You think you can keep Daryl beaten down? Well, you can't. And I ain't gonna help you, so you can just go straight to Hell."

Negan chuckled darkly, "Oh, darlin', that's not going to happen. Not at all. See, Glenn isn't going to be looking for you, no matter what he promised that night we first met. Because I made a little promise of my own, and he knows I fucking mean it." He stepped within an inch of Maggie so he could whisper in her ear, "If he tries, if he does make it this far, I will kill you and that precious little life you're carrying. And not one of Ezekiel's people will stop me. Oh, they'll be horrified, but they won't step in. Won't even fucking try. I will gut your belly open right here in this garden, and you can hold what spills out of your belly in your trembling hands while your blood soaks into the dirt and poor, pathetic Glenn kneels beside you, begging you to not to leave him. So you gotta ask yourself," he raised his voice as he stepped back, "Is it really worth it? The temporary satisfaction of firing off those smart-ass remarks from that pretty little mouth of yours. When you think, when you weigh it against what it might cost you down the road… I think you'll realize that the smarter thing to do is to just play nice. Is what I'm asking of you really that fucking terrible? Yeah, I means I fucking win. But let's face it, dear, I already fucking won, and this is just you working your way towards accepting that undeniable fact. And think what you have to gain – Glenn's peace of mind, maybe your own, too. Because the more we talk, the more I share with you about what's going on back home. Aren't you even just the tiniest bit curious about how everyone else is getting along? Or are you that self-centered, Maggie Rhee?"

"You don't get to judge me," she tried to warn.

But Negan wasn't rising to the bait, staying deliberately casual and non-combative, "I can only call 'em like I see 'em. And what I see is your family not making it more than five minutes into any visit I have with them before desperately seeking any fucking scrap of news they can get on you. This is our third conversation. And you have never once asked how they're doing, how they're handling all this shit. Carl's little girlfriend has shown more concern in one 30-second encounter with me for your husband than you have in all the weeks I've known you. It grates on their every last nerve, but Rick, Michonne, Sasha, Glenn, all of them, every week, bending over fucking backwards, swallowing their hatred because it's all they can do to try and get you back home. But you can't be bothered to get through one single conversation without telling me in so many words to fuck off. Because you fully expect them all to risk their lives coming to your rescue. But you aren't willing to sacrifice a few relatively harmless memories to ease their emotional burdens." He chuckled humorlessly, "Wow, when you put it all out there, you really do sound like a selfish little bitch. I'd like to think that's not true. Or at least, that it's not all you are."

He began slowly strolling backwards, putting more distance between himself and Maggie, who stood silent with her arms wrapped tightly around herself, protective or fuming, he couldn't tell. And the longer he observed her, the less he cared. "You know," he offered, "When I first met you, I thought you were going to be so much like this amazing woman I know. You wouldn't think much to look at her, tiny little thing, cute as a fucking kitten and about as ferocious, too. But you get to know her and, my fucking God, her strength, her courage… She'll go toe to toe with anyone, including me, but when she does, it's never about winning with her, it's just about getting to the goddamned heart of things. Because she wants what's fair, what's right for everyone. So when she gets in my face, even when what she has to say pisses me off, I know she's coming from a place of honest-to-fuck truth, and I respect the hell out of her for it. You…" he sighed, "I guess I just expected more. Not fucking fair of me, I guess, comparing you to her, acting like you had something in common. My mistake. But don't you worry your pretty little head, Miss Maggie, I read you fucking loud and clear. You're not interested in sharing with me, and, as it turns out, I'm not nearly as interested in you as I thought I was. So I'll leave you be, for now."

He gave her one last, long look up and down her frame and lifted Lucille in mock salute, "I'll be sure to say hi to Glenn for you. Shame, he really is missing out, not getting to see you like this."

Negan picked up his pace as he headed for the Kingdom's gates, refusing to pause even has he heard Maggie calling out to him from behind. Letting her stew for a few weeks, or months, whenever he decided to come back, wouldn't hurt anything. And being ignored might knock her down a peg or two, make her more receptive to his questioning. He might not have gotten the whole story from her today, but the bits that Maggie had let slip were enough for him to fill in what he needed to know. For Beth to be so much younger than Maggie, to not even be grown when the world turned on its head, then, at the very least, the older children weren't actually her's and Daryl's, and maybe the twins weren't Daryl's either. If there even was a 'Doc & Daryl' relationship to begin with.

_So_, he grinned widely to himself, _she lied._

* * *

"We're going to be lucky if we don't blow our fucking hands off with these things," Rosita used both arms to crank the metallic arm of the bullet press.

Abraham plucked the re-made bullet off the press stand and carefully turned it in the light, inspecting the seal between the projectile and the casing. "You want me to be the one who shoots them off when the time comes?"

"No," Rosita groused, coming to stand next to him and holding out her hand. "I'm not afraid to take the shot, I'm just pointing out what should already be pretty fucking obvious to you. We're putting these things together from bits and scraps and reading a dusty manual and hoping to hell we've gotten the measurements right with the gunpowder and shit. But neither one of us really knows the science and this whole thing could go sideways really fucking fast, and we're not going to get another chance if we fuck this one up."

"Alright," Abraham acknowledged, "What do you want to do?"

"We've got to make sure they actually work. We need a test fire. I can do it the next time I go out on a run, take it somewhere out of the way."

"We've only got five bullets, and you want to sacrifice one on a wasted shot?"

"Four bullets we're sure will work are a lot better than five bullets that might be duds, jam in the cartridge, blow out the slide, or about a zillion other things they might do other than hit our target," Rosita was adamant.

Abraham gave it a moment's thought before agreeing, "It's got to be the two of us, though, going out on that run. Unless you plan on using that test-fire to drop Spencer and leave his dead ass for walker food. Which I wouldn't be entirely against, mind you, but if, as you say, shit goes sideways, you can't be out there on your own and injured."

Rosita nodded. "You know who could've pulled this off without a hitch or needing a test-fire?"

"Eugene," they said together with slight, sad smiles on their faces.

Rosita carefully loaded the bullet into the clip with the others they'd made. "He was an irritating pain in the ass to a lot of people, but he was _my_ irritating pain in the ass, and nobody gets to take him from me and then just walk away clean."

"They're not," Abraham vowed, "We stay the course, we can beat these ass-wipes at their own game."

"There's still half a million ways this thing could go wrong."

"And one way it can go right," Abraham wasn't going to be deterred by their odds.

"Five bullets, four if we do the test-fire, isn't going to be enough to bring them all down. And killing Negan alone isn't going to be enough, either."

"Yep, can't outshoot the fuckers," Abraham sounded almost chipper, "Gonna have to out-strategize them. 'Cause if we get this wrong, we'll be even worse – scratch that, _they'll_ be even worse off," he gestured to their unseen community on the other side of Tobin's garage door. "We'll be dead."

"So, either way this goes, our problems are solved. Great, sounds like a win-win for us," Rosita quipped, and they both chuckled softly, comfortable with danger and happy to be back in their old routine, even if it was still a bit awkward between them. "So, what are you thinking? I mean, Negan's death for sure. If we don't take him out, there's no fucking point to any of it."

Abraham rested his back against Tobin's work bench, "You're going to get two clean shots. First shot, everyone's too surprised to move, second shot, they're looking around for the source, but, by the third round, they're going to be over their shock and firing back."

"So first two shots at Negan to make sure he's down?"

Abraham shook his head, "No, you're going to have to take him down with one bullet, and make it the second shot you fire. Get close, he'll let you get a lot closer to him than he'd let me. That's why it has to be you. First shot goes to whoever is closes to me. Second to Negan while I'm getting the guns off the first dead asshole, third and fourth for your escape route. And you need to use those shots to get the fuck out of Dodge so you can turn around and dive back in once I've cleared as many as I can."

"So you're in the thick of it," Rosita pictured the scene in her head. "Then you're a dead man, you've left no exit for yourself."

"That's about the size of it," Abraham grinned softly, "This is a one-and-done for me, darlin'. Truth be told, probably for you, too. But we'll take out as many of the fuckers as we can, and it'll leave Alexandria armed to finish the job."

Rosita nodded and sighed. "Well, as suicide missions go, it's not the stupidest thing we've done. And, hey, we're still here. Who knows? Maybe we'll be happily surprised again."

"I wouldn't count on it."

I'm not," Rosita was well aware the two of them were not likely to walk away from this. "Just putting it out there in the universe. I'm okay with it, really. Just want to make sure we're doing it right. And I'd feel better if we did a test-fire. And if we knew for sure where the Sanctuary was and that we left that intel behind for the others. There's no point firing any shots if we just going to leave our people shooting in the dark."

"Agreed, Rick's whole idea of 'cut off the head of the snake and the body dies' was bullshit from the start. Once we do this, they've got to go in hard and fast, get the whole thing done."

"Maybe they'll even get a chance to get in there and get Daryl, Maggie, and Aaron out," Rosita hoped.

The look on Abraham's face was enough for her to know he had no such positivity.

"Okay, well, first things first, then, we've got to find the place, and second, we have to somehow convince all the Saviors to get within range when they come to Alexandria," Rosita pointed out, "Every time they come here, they spread out all through the subdivision. We can't take them out if they're able to duck behind houses or worse, get to their trucks."

Abraham was nodding before she could even finish her thought – he had already considered this. "What we need," he began slowly, "is to lure them into a central location and have them think they're in control."

"I get that you're trying to walk me to a point that you think I'm not going to like, but since we're both going to die doing this, we're already at worst-case scenario, and it's stuffy and dusty as hell in here," Rosita griped.

"We already know what we need. We've been there before."

Rosita narrowed her eyes, "You're talking about on the road." Abraham nodded, all traces of his usual devil-may-care attitude gone.

"You're talking about us being on our knees, Negan being ready to swing that god-forsaken bat." Rosita grew increasingly incredulous.

"It's the only way they'll all be in one spot, and their guards will be down because they'll think they've won. And they'll all be focused on whoever Negan is about to kill. That's when these bullets can do the most good, because they'll all be in a circle, pretty little ducks lined up in a row. Like shooting fish in a barrel, except it'll be the fish doing the shooting."

"Mixed metaphors aside, you're forgetting the crucial little detail where the only way that happens is if we do something to piss them off, on purpose, and big enough that Negan wants the whole town rounded up and on their knees, and it can't be you, because if you're in the center of the ring on your knees, I won't be able to get a gun to you."

"And it can't be you, because whoever is in the center is going to be frisked, and we'd lose our only gun," Abraham finished her thought for her with a slight grin. "I know. This doesn't work without a third man. Someone who's potential death holds everyone's attention, and I mean _everyone's_, their side and ours, so we have the maximum amount of time to get shit done."

"They also have to be a goddamned idiot who's willing to possibly get smacked in the head with that stupid bat while I'm lining up my shot!"

"Don't you worry your pretty little head about that, I've had this part covered for weeks. I know exactly who we need and exactly how to use them."

"If you've known, then – "

"The less you know, the better. You need to look just as surprised as everyone else so the Saviors see you and dismiss you. That's how this works." He put his hands on her shoulders. "This is the final piece of the puzzle, this is what brings it all together. There's risk. And there's sacrifice. But it's worth it, for Eugene. And for everyone who makes it through to keep on fighting another day. We've built the trap. And when we spring it, Negan and all his fucking Saviors are going to be wiped off the face of the fucking planet. Now all we need," Abraham declared darkly, "is bait."

* * *

Daryl didn't know it was possible to be glad to see the Sanctuary gates. But, at this point, whatever got him out of this truck and away from Negan was a welcome sight. He didn't know what had happened while Negan was inside the Kingdom, but his whole demeanor had been entirely too gleeful, his ridiculous shit-eating grin stretching wide across his face the entire ride back. He never said a word, just the occasional chuckle to himself. Normally, the fact that the man took great pleasure in a constant stream of innuendo-filled banter. Turned out, his near silence was more off-putting.

Or maybe he was just keyed up after the unexpected chance to pass information on to Rick, who hopefully would pick up on his clue about Beth and have the good sense to keep it to himself. It was the first time since that night on the road that Daryl felt like he was actually able to do something to help his family, but both the high from pulling it off and the frustration at not being able to do more set his emotions on edge, had him bouncing in his skin with nervous energy he didn't know how to contain.

Whatever the reason, he was practically leaping from the driver's seat the moment he shut off the truck's engine.

"Don't know what the fuck you're so excited about, never pictured you as a man who loved dish duty. Thank fuck we didn't miss lunch!" Negan's back was already to him as he sauntered towards the factory's main entrance.

Daryl didn't see any point following when he could get to the kitchen area just as quickly taking the side door by the garage.

He heard the hushed voices off the side hall near the main factory floor and was perfectly content to dismiss them as being none of his business. He'd had more than his fair share of Negan's company today and had no intention of putting himself in a situation where he might be forced to spend even more time with the lead Savior.

It was the high-pitched but quiet yelp that drew him back. It was a sound he'd made enough times himself as a child, trying to choke down pain-filled cries whenever his old man laid into him.

"No more excuses, you've gotten everything you asked for and more than enough fucking time to get it done!"

The vast majority of the factory's halls were clean and in pristine condition per Negan's orders, but this hall was obviously off his radar – a dusty, dark corridor being used as an impromptu storage space for randomly-placed pieces of broken furniture.

"Please, I'm doing everything you said," the woman's pleas were louder than Daryl expected as he carefully eased down the hall towards the voices. Too loud for being as close to the open area where everyone was congregating for the midday meal. _Maybe that's what she wants,_ he mused as he carefully sidestepped a metal chair with only three legs collapsed on its side, _draw attention and be able to say it was an accident._

"If you'd done everything like we said, you'd have been done weeks ago," the man's voice snarled back.

"You can't just slap it together, otherwise you wouldn't have needed me in the first place," her voice was still tremulous but with an edge of backbone to it, "The compounds you got me are all from different sites, different exposure to varying temperatures, sunlight, everything decaying at different rates… the chemistry has to be exact or you won't get what you want. Please, I'm trying to get you what you want," she implored.

Daryl was no expert in much of anything beyond the woods or fixing cars, but he knew enough to put two and two together. He'd heard similar complaints before, from Eugene. _The fuckers are building a bomb._ _Scratch that – they're making __her__ build a bomb_. He'd finally gotten himself close enough to the small enclave around the corner from where the voices emerged and could, with quick, careful glances, make out the couple arguing, the man holding a frightened and whimpering boy of about eight years old with a clenching, white-knuckled grip around his upper arm.

"… test it," the woman was going on, "You said it yourself, you weren't happy with what happened at the outpost. Too much fire, not enough force. I need more time, need to run more calculations, or it's – "

"Today." The man cut her off, not even bothering to whisper. "No more time, no more delays. We're done waiting. Today. Get it in place, make it happen. And just to be sure, little Isaac's going to stay with me this afternoon."

"No, please," she shook her head. "If… if he's not at school, people will notice," she tried appealing to logic.

"No. I'm going to keep watch on the roof, and the boy will keep me company. And if you don't get it done, the boy is going to have himself a tragic accident."

Daryl had heard enough. They were connected to the outpost attack and whatever was going on within the Saviors. He didn't need their names – he knew where the man would be this afternoon, and he knew enough of what they were planning. Best to just take it to Negan and let him deal with it from there. Negan was a prick, but he was a prick with a soft spot for women and kids, he'd make sure the woman and her son were taken care of, and maybe this would buy enough goodwill to make things a little easier on Rick and the others.

And he was turning on his heel to do just that when the boy's sudden crying-out in pain and the woman's begging, "Stop it, you're hurting him!" had Daryl spinning full circle and around the corner before he was fully aware of his own actions. By the time his thoughts caught up with his body, he was already pulling the boy out of the man's iron grip and propelling him down the hallway towards the main area of the compound.

They seemed to come out of nowhere.

_You really are a stupid, impulsive, son of a bitch_, Daryl thought to himself as the two men he hadn't seen or heard teamed up with the one he'd been aware of and started forcing him to the ground with a rapid-fire series of punches and kicks that he knew would have him favoring his ribs for days to come.

Meanwhile, the woman was just standing there, dumbstruck. _Gotta at least try to salvage something from this fuck-up._ "Get to Negan," he called out to her with a grunt as he took another punch to his kidney.

He didn't get a chance to see whether she'd left or not as a well-placed kick finally got the better of his balance and he hit the ground at a roll.

"What the fucking fuckity fuck is going on here?" Negan roared from the other end of the hall, his voice echoing off the concrete walls. "Break it up, goddammit! I said, break it the fuck up!" he yelled as he stomped towards them, a small entourage of Saviors trailing after him. "And get some goddamned lights turned on," he added as an after-thought.

Daryl slowing pulled himself onto his hands and knees, trying to get a handle on his breathing and discretely looking around to see what he was dealing with. The woman was still there, frozen in place with her arms wrapped around her belly. Her boy hadn't gotten all that far, either, lying on the ground and curling in on himself under a discarded metal shelving unit just a few feet from where Daryl knelt.

As one, the three men behind Daryl began talking over each other, each vying to be the first to get Negan's attention, but he silenced them all with a firm, "No," Lucille pointed squarely in their direction.

Negan stopped in front of the shelves and dropped to a crouch, keeping Lucille upright in his grip with her barbed end on the floor. "Hey, buddy," his voice was gentle, "you think you can come out of there on your own? Or do you need a little help?" he offered his hand.

It seemed to take ages, the boy slowing inching his way to the edge of the shelf, and then finally pushing himself upright and using the shelf to pull himself standing, but Negan stayed put without the slightest indication of impatience, as if he had all the time in the world.

Negan's smile was soft and his voice was kind and easy-going, "Don't think we've met before. I'm Negan. You got a name, kid?"

"Isaac," was the barely-there whispered reply.

"Isaac," Negan repeated in acknowledgement. "Your wrist looks pretty banged up. Did that just happen?"

The boy gave a shaky affirmative nod.

"Isaac, do you know the rules?" At his quick nod, Negan continued, "So you know, it's important to tell me the truth. We do not lie. Isaac," Negan lifted Lucille and pointed to where Daryl was kneeling, "Did he do that?" he asked, tipping his head to the boy's red, swelling wrist.

Isaac's negative head shake was almost imperceptible for the fearful tremors running through his skinny frame, his breath coming in small, quick gasps.

"Okay," Negan kept his voice at a near-whisper. "How about that spot on your arm?" He gestured to the red hand-print partially visible under the edge of his t-shirt sleeve. "Did he do that?"

His head shake was a little more confident the second time around.

"Alright, does anything else hurt?"

At this, Isaac paused, pursing his lips and breathing heavily through his nose, his agitation increasing with each passing second.

"That's okay," Negan soothed. "Let's try something else. That lady over there, she's your Mom, right?"

At the boy's nod and slightly calmer features, Negan continued, "Has she ever hurt you? Maybe get real mad and grab your arm a little too tight?"

Isaac shook his head emphatically and whimpered out a quiet but certain, "No."

"Good, that's good. How about baldy over there, wow, the light just _shines_ off the top of that big bald noggin of his, that's your Dad, right? Has he ever hurt you?"

"This is – I have never laid a hand on my son!" the man in question shouted indignantly, "I've never hit my wife, either! This son of a bitch," he kicked Daryl's leg, "grabs my kid out of fucking nowhere, throws him down the hallway, slams him into the wall! Probably broke his wrist! He's scared, confused, doesn't know what – "

"Enough," Negan's voice wasn't loud, but it carried enough weight to stop the man short. "You will get your say. And the truth, whatever it is, will come out. But right now, I am talking to Isaac, and you will shut the fuck up and wait your turn."

Throughout the entire exchange, Isaac pursed his lips so tightly that they seemed to disappear entirely, his whole body shaking as he pulled his arms tighter around himself, whimpering when he accidentally put pressure on his injured wrist.

"Okay, okay, that's alright," Negan stopped himself short and tipped his head. The boy's movements had caused his t-shirt to ride up slightly. It was barely an inch of his midriff exposed, but it was enough to catch the man's eye. From Negan's vantage point, Daryl knew, he could only see the beginning edge of the red mark, but Daryl was better placed to see how the welt wrapped around the boy's side and around his back.

Daryl watched in silence as Negan internally debated his next move. Nodding to himself decisively, the lead Savior quirked a small grin and tipped his head, "Hey, buddy, I need your attention, because this here is the most important question. You ready? Do you like strawberry?"

Isaac was taken aback by the seemingly random question, and it was enough to steady his breathing and ease his tremors for the moment. He gave a small nod.

Negan's smile grew, "And have you ever had Ms. Janet's famous homemade strawberry taffy?"

"Uh-uh," Isaac shook his head.

"Oh, kid, you don't know what you're missing! I married her for those taffies alone!" He winked. "And I happen to know," he dropped his voice down as if revealing a great secret, "That a certain friend of mind, who just happens to be standing behind me and whose name is Murphy," he pointed over his shoulder, "tends to carry a handful of those amazing homemade strawberry taffies in his pocket."

Negan turned to face Murphy, who stood near the wall between Negan and the group still surrounding Daryl. "Say, good buddy Murphy, you wouldn't happen to have a couple of those delicious sweets I could share with my new friend here, would you?" The expression on Negan's face could only be described as 'puppy-dog eyes', but no one in the hallway was going to call him out on it.

Murphy allowed himself an easy grin as he handed over the requested treats, with Negan eagerly grabbing one and Isaac reaching hesitantly for the other.

"Didn't I tell you, kid? They are _the best_! So, here's what I'm thinking," Negan spoke around noisy, slurping chomps on the candy, "I gotta stay here and deal with this mess. But Murphy, here, is going to walk you down to the infirmary, where my good buddy Doc is going to take good care of that wrist and any other hurt spots. She's got this cream that's cool and tingly all at once and, oh, it's gonna make you feel ten times better."

"Think I heard someone say my name," Beth breezed down the hall as if it were an everyday occurrence to find Negan on the ground with an injured child and a dozen adults standing around awkwardly observing.

"Hey, Doc, you are right on time," Negan commented. "This is my new buddy, Isaac, and his wrist hurts."

"I can see that," Beth nodded in concern.

"Murphy was just about to walk him down to you, and I'm thinking his Mom should tag along as well. And since they're both going to be there already, give 'em both a full exam, head to toe."

Apparently unable to keep silent any longer, Isaac's father stepped forward, "Before this goes any further, I want it known, with everyone here as witnesses – I said it before and I'm saying it again, there's not a mark on my wife's body. And I don't beat my son. I know what you saw under the edge of his shirt, and I can explain. Everything else comes from this bastard slamming him into the wall! And I want him punished for putting his hands on my boy, and the rest of us when we tried to stop him. And I don't trust her –" he pointed angrily at Beth, "doing any kind of exam when she's married to this freak and will do whatever she can to cover his ass!"

Negan's expression was dark as he used Lucille to pull himself to his feet, "When this is done, no matter how it turns out, you and I are going to have a chat, and you're not going to like how it goes, because I have already fucking told you not to interrupt me. And nobody tells me how to run my Sanctuary," he growled. "For the sake of fairness," he turned to Beth, "Murphy's gonna hang out with you, maybe share a few more of his sweets. And I want Savannah there too, as my eyes and ears," Negan's voice had a dangerous edge to it now.

"You got it," Beth readily agreed but couldn't keep her eyes from drifting to Daryl, still on his hands and knees, blood dripping from his nose and split lip onto both his sweatshirt and the floor.

"Nuh-uh, don't even bother. He's mine to deal with."

Beth hesitated as if she wanted to say something, but then dropped her eyes to the ground and nodded before turning and leading the way to her infirmary with Murphy and Isaac trailing close behind.

Negan turned to the woman, who'd been silently observing the entire time, "Go with your boy," he ordered quietly.

"Should I… Is it alright if I take my things?"

"Of course," Negan agreed easily. And under everyone's watchful gazes, the woman carefully reached for her shoulder bag, wincing slightly as she stood and adjusted her grip on its strap.

_It's in there,_ Daryl realized, _whatever they've had her working on, it's in that bag._ He still kept his mouth shut, biding his time. He'd been stupid, jumping in the way he had and bringing unwanted attention to both himself and the situation. But her hanging onto the bag was a good thing. Negan was bound to question him sooner rather than later, and, if he was right, the bag held all the proof he needed. As long as she had it, these guys didn't, and couldn't do anything with it.

"Hey, Doc," Negan's unexpected shout jerked Daryl from his thoughts. He waited until she turned around before adding, "Give her an ultrasound while you're at it."

"She's not pregnant," the man protested, and the woman quickly confirmed, "I'm not."

But Negan just stared until Beth agreed at the unusual request before waving the group on again. Once they had turned down the main corridor, he stepped past Daryl and stood toe to toe with Isaac's father. "Right now, this whole shit-storm is standing between me and my lunch. So you have thirty seconds to give me that explanation you promised and, more importantly, to convince me to not have Lucille take your face off right fucking here and now."

The man gulped nervously before launching into a rapid response, "Isaac has panic attacks. Bad ones. We never know when they're coming, just, out of the blue, he, he freaks out, lashes out, hurts himself and anyone who gets too close without even knowing what he's doing. You don't know – what it's like out there, for a kid, and he's always been sensitive… We didn't want to say anything when we first arrived, didn't want him being treated differently, didn't want to risk you throwing us out if you knew how, well, just how violent they can be. But they were getting better since we came here. Until he came," he tipped his head towards Daryl. "Isaac saw him at the school, and some of the older kids told him about Alexandria and what they'd done, and it all started up again. He's not a bad kid, he just can't control it, and sometimes… sometimes, all we can do is hold him down, restrain him, just to keep him from hurting himself or someone else. That's what you saw."

"So, if I'm hearing this right," Negan began with more than a healthy amount of skepticism in his voice, "You send your child into my schoolhouse every day, and at any minute, he could go flying off the handle and hurt himself or his classmates? And you didn't think that, maybe, somebody needed to know that? His teacher, at least?"

"I know, it's what Ruby and I were fighting about, just before all this. And, I tell you, to be fair, maybe Dixon heard us arguing and misconstrued the whole thing, thought he was protecting the boy," he shrugged.

Negan nodded slightly, "I appreciate your willingness to consider that possibility. Now, there is something else I want you to consider. There are very few things in the world that I can't see my way to forgiving. Very few. We've all had to do things to survive, to protect what's ours. So, a lot of shit that would have landed you in front of a judge and jury in the old days, I get it. But what I absolutely, cannot, motherfucking stand," he dropped his voice register lower with each item on his list, "Rape. Beating your wife. Beating a kid. And lying to me."

He pressed forward until his nose was nearly brushing against the other man's, "Those things, I will not forgive. And I will not let go. If there is anything you need to tell me, anything you want to clear off your conscience, this is your _only_ chance."

After a beat of silence, Negan continued, "Okay. I gave you a concession earlier, _out of fairness_, and now, you're going to give me one. Until this is done, you're taking a time out in the box. You two," he turned to the other men who'd been standing with him, "where are you supposed to be right now?"

"North-side field, weeding," one mumbled. "I've got the afternoon free," the other offered, "but Craig's supposed to be on rooftop watch, I can take his spot until this is settled."

"Go on, then," Negan waved them both off.

"What about him?" Isaac's father had the nerve to nudge his foot at Daryl yet again.

Even from his spot on the floor, Daryl could see the irritated look Negan gave the man, "Connor, take this one to Daryl's cell and then bring Daryl to me in the conference room. Where I'll be eating my lunch in what had damn well better be a few moments of motherfucking peace and quiet."

Connor kept both men in front of him as they traversed the series of hallways leading to the cell. He didn't say a word until after he'd secured the other man inside, hung the key back on its hook next to the door, and then led Daryl to the far end of the hall. "Whatever you've got to say for yourself," he began in his lilting Irish as they kept moving towards Negan's office and conference rooms, "It'd better be fucking good. Because Beth's a friend. And my brother and I are getting fucking sick and tired of watching her get jerked around in all this."

Daryl nodded silently, not knowing exactly how to respond but fully agreeing with the sentiment.

"The little ones, too," Connor continued. "Not that we mind looking after them in the evenings, they're great fun to have around. But they're losing time with their Mum, not fucking fair to any of them." He stopped Daryl short with a hand on his shoulder, spinning him around and backing him against the wall, "If you're not planning on doing something about that, you bloody well ought to be." Daryl briefly met Connor's gaze, nodded, and then dropped his head again.

Seemingly satisfied, Connor nudged him towards the nearby door. "In there."

Daryl opened the door to a room furnished with a rectangular table and several chairs, but only one occupant. Negan sat at the head of the table, Lucille at his side and a thick sandwich in both hands. He kept eating until Daryl had closed the door behind him and came to stand near the table's midpoint before finally putting the sandwich down on the plate and making no effort to hide his exasperation, "The _fuck_, Daryl?"

"Whatever it is ya think's goin' on, it's gonna happen today."

* * *

**Happy with it? Please review! Not happy with where we've left things? Please review!**


	19. Chapter 19

**So, this is not gotten a final edit and probably has a grammar error or two, but I'd rather get it out there for your reading pleasure and fix it later... Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 19: Red Sky at Morning, Part III

Daryl would have gone on explaining what he overheard but for the knock at the door and an outstretched hand from Negan.

"You're standing." Negan raised an eyebrow and rested his elbows on the table.

_Are you fucking serious right now?_ Daryl clenched his jaw to keep his frustration behind closed lips as he eased himself down to one knee, bracing his forearms on his thigh to help support his aching torso.

"You seem to have fucking forgotten yourself here, Daryl. I like you. Hell, I've liked you since that surprise punch the night we met. But you made your choice. Fucking live with it." He turned his head towards the door and called out for whoever was on the other side to enter.

Daryl had figured on it being one of the men who'd been with Negan earlier, or maybe Simon nosing around for information, not the black-haired waif of a woman who minced her way across the room with a plate of food and a knowing grin pulling at her purple-lipstick smile, which faded noticeably at the site of the half-eaten meal already on the table.

"I was hoping we could share lunch," she pouted.

Negan seemed no less happy to see her, sliding his chair away from the table with an annoying scraping sound and pulling the woman to his lap, "Hello, Molly, my love, I think you were hoping for more than lunch," he wrapped his arms around her back to pull her in close for a hungry kiss. "Christ," he hissed," the fuck do you move in this?" his hands slid to the stretched-tight skirt that had ridden up and was bunched obscenely at the apex of her thighs from straddling him.

Daryl ground his teeth in frustration. Didn't Negan realize there wasn't time for this shit? That there was a bomb likely sitting in the infirmary that could be set off at any second? _Of course not, you haven't fucking told him yet, 'cause he's too goddamned busy making out with one of his fucking wives!_

But Daryl's quiet huffs of impatience only seemed to spur Negan on, running his hands up and down her body and kissing all the more insistently.

The longer he knelt there, the more his aggravation turned to fear. If he'd heard and figured right, there was a fully-assembled bomb in that woman's bag. In the infirmary. With Beth. And she had no idea what kind of danger she was in. However reluctant the woman might be to set that thing off, the fact was she'd built it all the same. And, from what Daryl could piece together from his eavesdropping, she'd been forced to put it together with explosives that weren't exactly stable, materials she didn't trust to do what they were supposed to. Isn't that what she had said about the first ones she'd built for them?

"_You weren't happy with what happened at the outpost. Too much fire, not enough force."_ It didn't make sense to Daryl; Eugene had built the devices that had gone off at the outpost. _Unless they were switched out_. The three men from Hilltop, whose names Daryl hadn't bothered to learn and now even more desperately hoped that Rick had, and that Jesus could convince him to share with Negan, had taken the firebombs directly from Eugene and placed them inside the satellite outpost. Which meant they were in the best position to have made a switch to something more deadly than what had been intended. An idea that made far more sense than Eugene fucking up the chemistry, the longer Daryl dwelled on it. But if this woman had messed up on the first ones and didn't feel all that confident about what she'd built now, it was anyone's guess how big a punch this device packed or if it was stable enough to hold together until it was put where they wanted it.

For all anyone knew, this thing could go off unexpectedly. And Beth was in the room with it.

Daryl was on the verge of rising to his feet and taking the iron or whatever else Negan threw at him just so he could get to Beth and warn her when Negan finally decided to stop teasing him, pulling away from Molly with his teeth dragging her bottom lip. "Darlin', as much as I would _love_," he emphasized with an exaggerated thrust and a groan, "to make much better use of this chair and table, I gotta deal with this," he murmured with a tip of his head in Daryl's direction.

"I don't care if he watches," she pressed herself against him.

"But I do," he gently but firmly nudged her back, "You're fucking amazing when you let go, and _no one_ gets to see that but me." He kissed her neck, nuzzling at the nape for a moment before sitting up straighter and easing her thighs slowly away until she was standing in front of him, straightening her skirt with a disappointed frown.

"Aw, I can't have you walking away mad at me," Negan groused, pulling himself to his feet and placing his hands on her sides. "I tell you what, I was gonna save this for something special, but… if you look under my bed, there's a shiny black box tied up with a pretty purple ribbon, not too far off from the fucking amazing shade of lipstick you're wearing," he traced his thumb along the edge of her lower lip.

"You got me a present?" Molly's expression was turning eager, "What is it?"

Negan chuckled, "Oh, no, baby, I'm not going to spoil your surprise. But I think you'll know what to do with it once you open it. And as soon as I finish shutting down this latest shit-show, I will come upstairs and help you play with it," he grinned and raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Daryl didn't waste time; as soon as Negan had shut the door behind his wife, he blurted out, "They made that woman build a bomb. It's here, and they're gonna set it off today."

Negan turned to look at him appraisingly. "Huh," he clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth before casually crossing back to the table and absent-mindedly biting off the corner of his sandwich. "Not what I expected," he muttered around his food.

Daryl was incredulous," Ain't ya gonna do somethin'?"

"I am doing something," Negan swallowed. "I'm thinking, weighing out my options. Something you and your people should try sometime instead of jumping in half-assed without any goddamned forethought." He took a long swig of tea before leaning back in his chair and continuing, "She's got it in that shoulder bag of hers, am I right?"

"Think so, yeah."

Negan nodded, "Then she took it with her, knowing she was going to be in the same room as her kid, who she clearly wants to protect. So she's not going to set it off anytime soon, and she's reasonably sure no one else can set it off while she's got it. Murphy's keeping watch, he likes Beth and he likes kids. Hell, he and his brother like most people, as long as they aren't assholes or don't disrespect their faith. And they're both more capable than most when it comes to a fight, fists or otherwise. All of which comes together and says 'Negan, you got time! Sit for a spell, enjoy your meal, mull things over.' Seriously, give it a whirl, Daryl. Sit. Eat," he gestured to both an empty chair and the sandwich Molly had left behind.

As Daryl pulled himself to his feet, feeling the growing aches both from being on his knees for so long and from the earlier beating, Negan continued out loud, but more to himself than to Daryl, "They've got to know I'm going to talk to her, and the kid. And that bald dickhead's got to know he's a dead man for putting his hands on a woman and child under my roof."

"So you know he was lyin' back there," Daryl put out there, taking the seat but leaving the food untouched.

Negan snorted in derision, "Fucking bullshit he spewed in that hallway, piss-poor attempt at originality, might as well have just said 'my kid walks into walls and falls down stairs'. Fucking moron." He sighed and tipped his head back, contemplating the ceiling, "Question is, was getting caught out like this part of their plan all along, in which case things are happening exactly the way they intended? Or did you fuck things up for them, in which case they're now scrambling to salvage their operation?"

Another knock at the door interrupted his musings, "Come in," he barked.

Daryl couldn't help a quiet sigh of relief at seeing Beth, even if her expression was decidedly troubled.

"Where are they?" Negan asked.

"Ruby's in the small exam room getting redressed. Murphy's keeping her son occupied in the main room; he'll bring them both up when she's ready. But I told them both not to rush. Gives me a few minutes to show you all this," she waved the manila file folders in her hand.

"And Savannah?"

"She went on to lunch."

"Good," Negan murmured to himself before continuing, "Sit down, Doc, eat something yourself. Daryl here's too stupid to take advantage of good food when it's offered, and fuck-all knows when we'll have bread for sandwiches again, if the grain shortages are as bad as predicted."

But Beth didn't bother reaching for the plate and didn't seem to want to meet anyone's eyes, either. Daryl clenched his jaw and wished he could have just a couple of minutes alone with her to work out whatever had gotten under skin.

Negan finally caught on as well and pushed his own plate to the side, "Alright, then, let's have it. How pissed off am I about to be?"

Beth took a breath and squared her shoulders, seemingly steeling herself, but for what, Daryl wasn't quite sure. But then, he'd experienced abuse most of his life, and perhaps this was Beth's first time seeing what a grown man could do to a child. "I guess we'll start with Isaac. His wrist was only sprained, so we got that wrapped."

"He talk about what happened?" Negan interjected.

"No, neither of 'em said much. Seemed about all they could do to let me look 'em over." She opened the first folder and pulled out a crude sketch, two outline drawings of a person with no features, one labeled FRONT and the other BACK, with occasional marks on either figure and lines drawn out to notes along the sides of the page.

"Honestly, I was a little relieved," Beth said with a guilty expression on her face, "I thought there would be more. Not that any of it is good, mind, just…"

"Kids are resilient," Negan ran his fingers down the page, skimming over her notes on various bruises, cuts, and scars, "Have to really put a hurt on them to leave a lasting mark," he observed through gritted teeth. "This one here, that wraps around, that's the one I saw the edge of."

Beth nodded, "It's the freshest cut, ain't sure what made it. The welt seems too thin for a belt from what I seen before – "

"Electrical cord," Daryl offered, his gaze trained steadily on the table so his expression would give nothing away to either of the other two in the room. "Somethin' thin with ridges in the plastic casing, like from a lamp, maybe. If the cord's too rounded or smooth, it won't cut the skin. But a belt'd leave a thicker weal, with some bruisin' round the edges where the flat of the leather landed, least for the first day or so."

There was a beat of awkward silence, where Daryl could feel Negan's eyes bearing down on him, before Beth jumped in a touch too loudly, "An electrical cord would explain this odd bruise here," she gestured to a pencil mark on the other side of the drawing, "could be from the plug end hitting him. We should look for a random cord when their apartment gets searched, or something that used to have a plug but doesn't anymore."

Negan nodded, letting his interest in Daryl's detailed description go, at least for the moment. "How long do you think this has been going on?"

"You mean did Isaac come in with scars?" Beth got to the point, "Yeah, at least a couple of 'em. They're thin, and small, but they're at least a few months old. You'd have to be looking for them, but they're there."

"Looking for scars is the whole goddamned point of having a medical check before we let people into the Sanctuary. Looks like Carson's face is about to get a whole lot more interesting. Or at least one side of it. Tell me about the woman."

Negan missed, but Daryl didn't, the tightening of Beth's jaw, the tensing of her muscles at Negan's last statement. But he knew better than to call attention to it.

"How'd you know?" Beth asked, genuinely curious, "The ultrasound? How'd you know what it would see?"

Negan gave a half-grin and absently touched the end of the baseball bat as he explained, "She used to volunteer at this women's shelter, was a big thing for her. I went along from time to time. '_There's not a mark on my wife's body_', that's what the prick kept saying in the hallway. The only real difference between a rich wife-beater and a poor one is that the white-collar crowd like to show off their trophy wives at company cocktail parties. Hard to put 'em in a pretty little dress and heels if they're gonna end up revealing his handiwork. A solution, if you want to call it that, is to get a soft bag, pillowcase maybe, and pack it with something that has weight, but also a little give to it. Handmade bars of soap can work, if the edges aren't too sharp. Citrus is ideal – oranges, grapefruit especially, lemons and limes are too small, have those knobby ends. Cause what they do is, get a good wind-up and swing, right into the gut. Soft belly tissue is the best landing spot, takes the wind right out of her, hurts like hell, for days after. No marks on the skin, though, all the bruising is deep inside. Do it hard enough, or enough times, you can rupture the organs, cause internal bleeding. All without the tiniest blemish. No broken bones, so X-ray's no good. But an ultrasound can see it all. So, what did you see?"

Beth pulled a heavier piece of paper out of the second folder, "I thought it was worth the ink to print out the image." Daryl wasn't sure what he was looking at, but Negan must have understood what the darkened blobs meant, because he let out a low whistle, "Surprised he didn't crack a rib, high up as he went and as hard as he hit."

"There was a little redness on her skin, almost like a rash. Maybe whatever he used for a bag wasn't all that soft."

Negan nodded. "All this for a lousy fucking bomb," he mused.

"A what?" Beth's voice squeaked surprise, and Negan held up his hand to quiet her. "Where?" she hissed.

"Probably still in your hospital wing," he replied casually.

Beth's eyes got wider than Daryl thought was possible and she was halfway out of her seat before Negan reached out to grasp her arm, "Would you calm the fuck down?" he rolled his eyes, "Honestly, the two of you, both about to jump out of your goddamned skin. The fucking thing's not going anywhere."

"I ain't worried about it going _anywhere_, I'm worried about it going _off_!" Beth fired back.

Negan gave her an exasperated look and spoke slowly, as if she were the one missing the obvious, "Any minute now, that woman and her son and her god-forsaken bag are going to walk through that door. And if there is, in fact, a bomb in said bag, I'll have her turn it off, or take it apart, or whatever the hell needs to be done to make it safe. Quietly. Without all this goddamned panic. Meanwhile, Connor is already going around getting people I know I can trust rounded up and ready in case there's trouble. And Murphy will be here, keeping an eye out while I talk with what's-her-name and get better information so I can shut this shit down and we can all get back to fucking normal."

"How would Connor know who – "

"You think I've been sitting back on my ass doing goddamned nothing all this time, Doc!" Negan took a breath and reined himself in. "I started with people who I knew never had any contact with Hilltop. And I got you sussing out folks as they come through the hospital wing, parents of your kids' friends, etcetera and so on. And the McManus brothers doing the same in their own circles. Don't you know what they used to do for a living?" Negan smirked before throwing back the last of his tea. At her confused expression he remarked, Let's just say they have a knack for sniffing out the less-than-virtuous. And knowing what to do about it. Christ, Doc, this shit tastes terrible! The hell you making us drink this slop for?"

"Olive leaves have strong antiviral properties, chamomile for antibacterial, and rose hips for vitamins A, B, C, and D, as well as flavonoids to help against cancers and heart disease and protect the brain," Beth reeled off before blushing slightly, realizing the question was rhetorical. "No one who's been to Hilltop – so you do think it's Simon."

"I think it's probably Simon. I think it's definitely at least some of the guys in his preferred crew. But I don't know for sure, or how many, or what the fuck-all they're planning to do to get what they want. Hopefully, our battered woman can fill in some of the blanks. At the very least, she can tell me what they had her building and where they wanted it to go off."

"I can't figure why they'd want to risk bringin' in someone who didn't want to be part of whatever this is in the first place," Beth questioned.

"Unless they wanted her to get caught," Daryl quietly posited.

Negan nodded in acknowledgement before putting out his own theory, "Either of you know how to build a bomb? I don't. Wouldn't know the first thing about what to do if I came across one, either. Decade's worth of cop dramas got everyone thinking they're armchair experts, but God's honest truth is, most people wouldn't have the first fucking clue what to do if they actually had to put one together. Or take one apart with its little timer ticking down to zero. Ain't like the good old days when you could Google that kind of shit. And then hit Ebay or Amazon or what-the-fuck-ever to order the parts. Probably took them months, scouring every community and outpost, every straggler they found in the woods, before coming across someone with the expertise. And that's before you find whatever shit you need to build one of the damned things."

"More than one," Daryl jumped in. "This is her second, at least." At Negan's interested look, he continued, "It's what I overheard in that hallway, 'fore ya got there."

"Before you got stupid and jumped in instead of coming to me in the first fucking place, you mean."

Daryl let the dig slide, "She built whatever got set off at the satellite station."

"How?" Negan was incredulous, and Beth's expression wasn't too far off from his.

"Couple'a guys from Hilltop went with us, they were the only ones to actually go inside. Must've swapped out what we gave 'em for whatever she made. But I heard her, clear as day, she needed more time with the one she's got because she didn't want to screw up and not give 'em what they asked for like at the outpost."

Negan crossed his arms as he considered this new information, emotions playing across his face too quickly for Daryl to rightly name them. "If that's true," he finally mused, "it would mean they still have Eugene's firebombs tucked away somewhere. Interesting. But a problem for another day," he concluded. "First I need that sweet little canary Miss Ruby to sing me a song or two. I doubt she can name all the players, but she can tell me what her little firecracker was meant to do and where it was meant to go. Can't be all that powerful, they wouldn't want to bring the whole fucking factory down on them, or fuck with the pipelines for water or power. But that still leaves a whole fuck-ton of options and potential consequences. My room would be the most obvious choice, of course, take me out, make a martyr out of me and take over while everyone's too busy freaking the fuck out about what to do next. But that needs a scapegoat, something they can rally behind – "

"Me." Beth's voice was quiet but certain, and it stopped Negan's meandering thoughts cold. "I'm pretty sure they mean to blame this on me." She slid the medical files towards his arm, flipping the top one open. "I dunno when they did it, or how, but this isn't what her file said a few days ago, and now it's the only thing I can find."

Negan skimmed the words that Daryl could barely read, both for being a few seats down the table and for the scribbled cursive in heavy ink lines. "So you're the one who first checked them in – "

"Except I didn't," Beth interjected.

Negan kept going as if he hadn't heard her, "And you knew she was hurting but saw nothing wrong. Patched up her kid a couple of times… aww, it's even got your pretty little initials. And written with that fancy-ass pen you love so much." His grin grew with each phrase until he was outright laughing, "Oh, they got your number for fucking sure, didn't they! Well, at least we know one thing," he slapped the medical reports shut, "Today is not the main event. This is just an opening act, something to warm up the crowd. Darlin'," he added, tapping his fingers on the files, "you don't go to this much trouble just for a back-up plan. They abso-fucking-lutely mean to set you up." He laughed again.

Daryl wasn't in a laughing mood. From what Negan had insinuated earlier, the doctor who saw the marks on a woman or kid and didn't say anything was just as culpable in his eyes as the bastard who put them there.

Like hell he was going to sit by and let Negan take that hot iron to Beth's face.

"You worried, Doc?" Negan chuckled, his expression going dark, "You should be. Simon, or whoever did this, wouldn't go to all this trouble and not make a copy just to make damned sure it got found. And either way this plays out, you've got a big fucking target on your back now. It wouldn't be anything for me to save you, long as you can deal with me playing favorites. But you can bet they'll jump all over that. Every fucker whose face has been kissed by that iron will be boiling mad at the unfairness of it all. So will their families. And their friends. And everyone who already thinks I'm being too soft on Alexandria, they'll make that connection, or it'll be made for them. In the face of all that, it would actually be better for me to just cover up those nasty little scars on your face with a much bigger and nastier scar. But then," he leaned back in his seat to stretch his legs, "if I do give you the iron, all those people who just love their favorite Doc will be heartbroken. And maybe a little pissed off. Maybe you'll be pissed off, too, pissed enough to switch sides, to _not_ be Negan anymore. And use those amazing speech-making skills you were so eager to show off a few weeks ago to pull more people away from me. You do realize that's probably what put you on their radar, right? You standing up, making a big spectacle of yourself at _my_ meeting. You wanted attention, wanted to be noticed, wanted to matter and for people to see you as someone worth knowing, someone important. Here it is, little girl, they're all gonna be looking at you now."

"You ain't gonna touch her," Daryl was done listening to Negan and his half-veiled threats against Beth.

But Negan just grinned, "And why is that? Because she's you wife? The mother of your children? Except she isn't. Because she's the town doctor? Except she's not exactly a medical professional, either. Hell, she's barely an adult." He turned back to Beth, "You might not be talking to your sister, but I am. Maybe you should have, could've gotten your stories straight at least."

"Ain't nothin' to get straight," Beth returned, and Daryl could see her hooded eyes, rod-straight spine and knew, under the table, she had one hand on her knife hilt. He'd seen it in Michonne enough times over the years to know protective 'mama-bear' mode, and was not-so-secretly pleased to see Beth unafraid and unhesitant to hold her own. "Maggie don't know what she's talkin' about. And I ain't lied, either. I came in here, I said I wanted to work in the medical wing. You're the one who started callin' me 'Doc', got it to spread round. Ain't never said I gave birth to Tim or Sunni, but they are _my_ children and don't you dare try an' tell me otherwise. And I ain't never said how old I was or wasn't, but I came in here pregnant, can't fake that or forget it neither. I said I'm Beth Dixon because Beth Dixon is who I am."

"And your big sister had no fucking idea that you were in a secret relationship for years behind her back?" Negan taunted, on his feet now with his hands on the table. "And that Daryl Fucking Dixon, the man so goddamned honorable that, even though it does absolutely motherfucking nothing to help them, he'd rather suffer like this," he gestured vaguely at Daryl's clothes, "than turn his back on his friends back in Alexandria, would go and fuck a barely-legal teenage girl and leave her alone, pregnant, to fend for herself?"

"Maggie didn't know shit because she was too damned busy bein' wrapped up in her own relationship to see what was goin' on around her, to see that her sister was grown and holdin' her own," Daryl'd had enough and was on his feet as well. "Too focused on Glenn to spend even one goddamned day looking for anyone else when we all got split up. But you know goddamned well that the only reason I didn't keep fightin' you that night until I'd either kicked all your teeth in or forced you to kill me was because you said her name. That's it. No other reason. You said her name, and I stopped. For her. And you knew it, too, 's why you said it. Anythin' else about it ain't no one's business but hers and mine. There ain't no point goin' round with this bullshit game you're playin' when there's real problems to be dealin' with."

Somewhere in there, Daryl had apparently crossed a line with Negan, because the man stalked around the table, Lucille in hand and all traces of playfulness wiped from his face, "You think you know what game's being played here? You think I don't know what's right in front of my face, or that I don't know how keep fucking control of what's going on around me?" He stood toe-to-toe, his breath hot against Daryl's skin, "You think, just because I like having you around, like her company, that I won't end you here and now, right in front of her? You're having real trouble remembering just who the fuck you are today, Daryl, and who the fuck you're dealing with."

From the edges of his vision, Daryl saw Beth easing around the table towards them, but he refused to break eye contact with Negan, refused to be the one who backed down.

Looking back, he wouldn't be able to say for sure if it was more of a sound or a feeling, the low rumbling boom that vibrated the floor under their feet.

All three froze for an instant before Beth broke for the window, breathing a heavy relieved sigh as she turned back to Daryl, "Not the school."

As one, it dawned on them, "Hospital wing."

And Beth and Daryl were both off like a shot, moving as one through the door and down the stairs as swiftly and easily as they'd moved through the woods in their last few days together, not losing a step as she passed him the larger knife on her belt, reached into her pocket for her smaller utility knife and bringing it bear against whatever they were about to meet. Distantly, Daryl noted that Negan didn't seem to be with them; they'd left him behind to ponder just when exactly he'd lost control.

The corridor to the hospital wing was choked with smoke and dust, but the four doors all seemed closed and intact, the hall's only occupant pulling himself to his feet at the turn-off towards the room that housed the elderly patients.

"Murphy!" Beth called out and ran to him. He had a hand on his chest and was covered in dust and small nicks, but otherwise seemed fine.

"She left," he shook his head to clear it, dust falling all around him, "I dunno when, but the woman, Ruby, she… I went to check on her, see what was taking so long, but she was gone. And by the time I checked the other rooms and came back to look in on Isaac, he was gone, too."

The man seemed to set eyes on Daryl for the first time, noting the knife in his hand with interest. But Daryl wasn't bothering with Negan's rules at the moment. "Gotta find 'em both, they'll be looking to tie up loose ends." His words probably made no sense to Murphy, but Beth's eyes widened in comprehension. Now that the bomb had gone off, whether it did what it was supposed to or not, Ruby and her son weren't needed anymore, and whoever had set this in motion would be looking to silence them before Negan could get anything out of them.

"Oh, no," Beth whispered, her eyes going past Daryl to the corridor beyond. Daryl turned to see where the bulk of the dust and smoke was coming from. The double doors were blown nearly completely off their hinges, one hanging on crookedly by the top bracket and the other lost entirely. The group started to move closer to the wreckage only to have Murphy pull them back at the last second. The floor was crumbling under their feet, the concrete giving way to the floor below. But they were close enough to see the damage that had been done. The room with the elderly patients, and Aaron, was gone.


	20. Chapter 20

**Twenty chapters - it feels like an epic milestone! Thank you to everyone, whether you're reviewing every chapter, hitting those Like and Favorite buttons, or just quietly reading along. It's been as much fun for me as it seems to be for all of you. ****And yet, there's still so much more story to tell... **

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Chapter 20: Red Sky at Morning, Part IV

The first coherent thought that entered Aaron's mind was that he was wet and he didn't know why. It was the only thing that stayed with him, though, so he ran with it. _Okay, I'm wet. With my clothes on._ He couldn't seem to shake himself past that, even to open his eyes. Why was he wet? It seemed bright beyond his eyelids – was he outside? Was it raining? Is that where the water came from? No, that didn't feel exactly right, either. Aaron wracked his brain, searching for something tangible to hold onto. What had he been doing? And why was he wet?

_Hospital wing. You're Negan's prisoner at the Sanctuary. You do as you're told so that Negan will let you keep writing to your family. You work in the hospital wing, with Jeffrey and Beth and sometimes Savannah and sometimes others who get assigned to help out, and sometimes the older kids from the school who come in with their teachers. Kids… there was a kid, a boy. And a woman._

His memories were starting to rearrange themselves into some semblance of order. He'd been on the far side of the room, moving Mrs. Abbott behind a curtained partition to help her bathe and change after she'd had an accident in her bed. He had vaguely taken note of a woman entering the room and settling herself on a chair beside Father Donovan's bed near the door with her back to the rest of the room, but Aaron hadn't thought anything of it. People did that from time to time, visiting the old priest for counsel or confession. In either case, it was none of his business.

It wasn't until he heard the ear-piercing shriek from across the room that he popped his head around the curtain. A young boy was standing, uncertain, just inside the double doors and the woman, apparently his mother, shouting at him to leave, simultaneously snatching up the bag in her lap. Fingers scrabbling at the latch, she kept yelling, "Isaac, go, you have to go, right now, honey!" Aaron couldn't move from his spot – he was holding Mrs. Abbott upright as she carefully slid her feet into her slippers – but he could see that, whatever was in the bag, the woman was desperately fiddling with it and growing increasingly frustrated.

Finally, she stood, the bag falling to the floor as she called out one last desperate plea, "Isaac, run!" before she turned and started towards the back of the room, arms clutching her prize to her chest.

It happened too fast and too slow, all at once. Aaron's mind could only process it in snapshots: the woman's panicked, tear-streaked face, the odd contraption in her arms, the comprehension of what it was, the realization that he was trapped with her and the bomb between him and the only exit, and then it was oddly quiet, as if all sound had been sucked from the world.

His mind conjured up a flash of an image of the woman on the ground, curling herself around the device, but he wasn't sure if it was real or not.

He did remember the brilliant light as he pushed off with his feet towards an empty bed behind him, the absent thought that, if he got there in time, he might be able to pull the mattress down between himself and the worst of the blast. But his grip was still tight around the old woman he'd been tending to, and her weight dragged him back, making him fall short of his goal, with both of them slamming into the side of the bedrail.

And then he was falling, but impossibly farther than the floor. After that, nothing.

His thoughts felt stable enough to try opening his eyes again, this time with success, albeit the sight in front of him was more confusing than helpful.

Shower tiles?

He knew the room well enough – he was in the large community shower room on the lower level, the same place he'd been taken when he first arrived. And water, both cold and heated, was spraying out from a couple of busted pipes near the ceiling as well as the gaping hole where a showerhead had once been on the wall behind him. _Oh. That's why I'm wet. But why am I here?_

There was also the odd sensation of seeing the water spewing from the pipes, but not hearing it. Try as he might, all Aaron could perceive was a high-pitched constant ringing. He hoped it wasn't permanent.

That's when he realized that the ceiling wasn't where it was supposed to be, or, rather, that there were two of them: the ceiling to this room, which now had a massive hole exposing the room above, where, Aaron presumed, the elderly room of the hospital wing used to be. Somehow, the blast had punched through the floor, which explained why he'd kept falling when he dove for the bed.

Mrs. Abbott. If Aaron had fallen, she must have, too. He cast his gaze around him, finally taking in the scope of the chaos. Being the middle of the day, thankfully, no one seemed to have been down here showering. The elderly room was perhaps half the size of the community shower, and it appeared that nearly all of that upper room was now down here, with chunks of flooring, furniture, and, now that his vision was fully cleared, people, all haphazardly strewn around the room.

_Gotta get up, Aaron, got to help them, some of them might still be alive._ One, he was fairly certain, was not. He'd been lucky, falling almost straight down to the center aisle between the longer sides of the room. But Mrs. Abbott had not, her body bent impossibly backwards over the tile-encased concrete dividing wall between two of the shower stalls.

_You have to check her_, he told himself. If she's alive, maybe someone could… but more likely, she wasn't, and she'd need to be put down before she turned.

That's when he felt it. Pain suddenly flared through his entire body, sharp and intense enough to steal his breath away for several seconds. As the sensation receded, Aaron took stock of himself. There was a gash somewhere on the side of his head, blood flowing steadily past his left cheek and ear to soak the shoulder of his torn baby-blue scrubs. And the back of his head, too, had a smaller cut. He testily felt for the edges with his fingers, hissing as he made contact with open flesh – some sort of debris was still wedged in there, and he knew better than to pull it out. Smaller cuts littered his arms, and his left elbow was pulsing pain along the ill-named funny bone, but there was no bleeding there, and his hands were mercifully intact. His side had the makings of a spectacular bruise forming where he'd slammed into the bed railing and his back felt sore, with particular focus on his hips and butt, which seemed to have taken the brunt of his weight when he fell. _Lucky me_, he thought, _saved by my ass._ His legs seemed remarkably unscathed, until he saw his right ankle. Somehow, he'd lost his shoe. But at the rate his ankle was swelling, he doubted he'd be able to get the sneaker back on. _Alright, that's a problem_.

"…ron, Aaron!" the voice sounded distant, but Aaron wisely figured it was a by-product of his damaged hearing from the blast and started searching for the source.

Daryl.

In the several weeks since being taken, they hadn't seen each other more than in passing, but here he was, calling out through a shattered rectangular window set above the showerheads on the opposite wall. Had the blast done that? Aaron didn't see any other windows broken. "Hey!" He called back in what he hoped wasn't too loud or awkward a response, "Could use a little help down here."

Daryl nodded and used something in his fist to knock away the worst of the remaining shards before sliding through to balance awkwardly on the shower stall divider before finally hoisting himself down, his dirty sneakers slipping a bit on the wet tiles.

"Ya alright?" Deft hands checked him over, eyes intently searching.

Aaron nodded, "I'll live. Ears are ringing, can't hear all that well. And I'm going to need your help walking out of here. Not sure I can get up to that window. What was wrong with coming through the door? And what happened to you?" For all his own injuries, Aaron hadn't missed the dried blood and rising swelling on his friend's face and had enough sense to know they weren't from the blast.

Daryl ignored the personal inquiry and instead pointed up to the hole in the ceiling, "Floor's blown to hell, Beth and I near fell through, cracks are spreadin' still. Weren't sure it wouldn't come down even more. Window was the next best bet. How many folks were in there with ya?"

Aaron did a quick mental count, "Eight patients, me, Jeffrey, a woman and her kid. But you're not going to find her. She, um," Aaron struggled for words, "she brought whatever it was with her, freaked out when her son came in the room, looking for her, I guess. She tried to stop it and when she couldn't, she used herself as a shield as best she could." Aaron wasn't sure the last bit was true but didn't see the harm in giving her a bit of dignity. "Where's Beth?"

"Gettin' supplies from the infirmary, gonna set up outside to take care of anyone we find alive down here. The kid," Daryl was suddenly focused, "Did he…"

"I don't know," Aaron confessed, "He was right by the door, but I didn't see…" he trailed off.

"He wasn't pushed out into the hall," Daryl was on his feet, quickly striding to the edge of the hole, jumping back slightly as another sizable chunk of plaster and concrete suddenly came loose and fell just to the side of him, then glancing around him on either side before staring up. "Most of the room's floor caved in, but he could be in a corner, along the edge maybe. Hey kid," he called out with greater volume (and Aaron was silently relieved that he could tell the difference, his ears not fully clearing but other sounds beginning to penetrate the ever-present ringing). "Isaac!"

Aaron couldn't hear whatever sound the boy made, but Daryl clearly did, his head sharply whipping to the left and homing in on haphazard pile of overturned beds and medical equipment. He pawed carefully through the mess until he'd shifted enough aside to see the boy, huddled and whimpering on the tile floor.

Daryl wasn't the coddling type, "Kid, I know this sucks and you're scared, but if you feel like you can move, we need to get ya out of there." Somehow, his straightforward approach seemed to work with the boy the same way it did most kids. Perhaps, Aaron occasionally mused whenever he saw his own son hanging around Daryl in the garage, it was precisely because Daryl was so blunt. There was no sugar-coating or artifice with him, just a simple honesty and a kind of equal treatment that most adults didn't use with smaller children. Whatever the reason, the boy, dusty with blast debris and trembling, still slowly pulled himself upright and accepted Daryl's steadying hand as he navigated the rubble-strewn floor.

Aaron watched as Daryl tried, and failed, to touch the boy's other arm, which was bent in the wrong place and at an impossibly wrong angle. "Well, if it weren't broke before, it definitely is now," he observed wryly. "Anythin' else hurtin' that's new?"

"Kinda all over."

Daryl nodded, "Fair 'nough." He started to say more, but abruptly cut himself off and turned towards the doorway, giving Aaron his first good view of the knife Daryl carried in his hand, low but clearly at the ready. Between that and the fresh bruising and cuts on Daryl's face, Aaron was more confused than ever. _What the hell have I missed today?_

The sound Aaron hadn't heard, but Daryl obviously had, was from the McManus twins, emerging cautiously from the hallway, Murphy brushing plaster dust from his hair.

"Negan's getting the last of the people out of the building and is planning to send in a construction crew to see what can be done about shoring up the floor, making everything safe, but it could be a bit," Connor relayed. "Fucking pieces breaking loose as far back as the stairwell. How'd you get down here so fast?"

"Window," Daryl returned, tipping his head back to gesture to the opening.

"Hey," Conner called out to Aaron, "You look like hammered shite!"

Aaron grinned, "That's regular shit to you. Give us a hand, will you? Some of these folks might still be alive, but others… we don't want to leave them too long."

Connor's eyes drifted to where Aaron knew Mrs. Abbott's body still draped over the concrete divider, a grotesque, broken rag doll that Aaron knew he'd be seeing again in his dreams that night.

Connor quickly maneuvered down the length of the room to the old woman, checked for a pulse, and then sliding a dagger efficiently into her ear to leave as small a mark as possible. Aaron nodded in appreciation.

"Well, until we're sure the floor won't cave in on us, might be best to figure a way of hoisting you and the lad here up through that window," Connor mused.

"Not the boy," Daryl gruffly stated, nudging him into an empty and relatively dry stall. "Folks're gonna be lookin' for him. He stays here until he goes straight to Negan."

Connor considered for a moment before nodding, again leaving Aaron thoroughly confused.

"No!" Murphy's grief-filled shout reverberated through the room, startling them all. From where he still sat/laid on the floor, Aaron couldn't see who Murphy was kneeling beside, but he could guess. Both brothers were at the priest's bedside at least twice a day. Connor rushed to his brother and began helping him shift debris, but Aaron could tell from Daryl's deep frown that whatever they were uncovering wasn't good. Knowing he probably didn't want to see this, and absolutely certain that this boy, whoever he was, shouldn't be seeing any of the carnage around him, Aaron still found himself shifting until he was fully sitting upright and using a divider wall as leverage until Daryl noticed and helped him to stand awkwardly on his good leg. He gestured with the best smile he could manage in his pained state for the child to come closer, and Aaron busied himself with nonsense comments to keep the kid from looking back.

Father Donovan had fallen on his hospital bed, which had bent and broken in the collapse, with metal struts now impaling the old man through the chest, gut, and leg. Both brothers knelt on either side of the priest's head, tears running freely down both their faces as they muttered what Aaron could only assume was the prayer for last rites. When they finished, they moved as one, both gently placing a steadying hand on Donovan's head, the other sliding twin blades into his ears to keep him from turning.

"Whoever's behind this," Murphy vowed darkly, "They're gonna fucking pay."

"Aye," Connor agreed, equally solemn. "But first, let's see to the living."

They rose as one, with Connor directing, "Check that side, see what you can find. Daryl, what do you think? If we put one of the bed-boards across those dividers," he pointed to the stall underneath the open window, "We could lift anyone else we find up there, and then pull ourselves up so we can lift them the rest of the way out?"

"Yeah, should hold."

"You sure we can't make it to the stairwell?" Aaron asked. I know it's the long way, but trying to lift unconscious or injured people up that high…"

Daryl was shaking his head before Aaron could finish his thought, "Know how you 'n' Eric 'n' Luke'll build houses of cards on rainy days? Real buildin' ain't so different – floors and walls lean on each other, 's what keeps the whole thing upright. Hole in the floor's got the walls leaning in too much, putting too much weight on what's left of the floorin'. Cracks're only gonna keep spreadin', pieces breakin' off til there ain't enough left for the wall to lean on. Ain't none of us want to be here when that happens." He grimly declared.

"You in construction before?" Connor inquired curiously. Aaron was interested as well, Daryl rarely opened up about his past, even with him.

Daryl nodded, "If my brother weren't around, I'd hook up with whatever local foreman was hirin', subdivisions and the like were always goin' up back then. Or a garage, if housin' was slow. Ain't gone to school or nothin' for it, but I's alright." Anyone who didn't know him well wouldn't have picked up on the slight gleam in Daryl's eyes when he talked about his past work, but Aaron was fluent enough in Daryl-speak to know that 'alright' meant that Daryl had gotten pretty good at both construction and auto mechanics, and, what's more, had enjoyed it.

"Here," Murphy called from the far end of the room, "she's still with us," he gestured to a crumpled figure on the floor beside him.

One by one, Daryl and the brothers found the other occupants of the elderly ward while Aaron entertained his young charge with silly questions and games of tic-tac-toe by mixing the plaster dust and water into a muddy paste on the shower tiles. Miraculously, most were still alive, with those in the farthest corners of the room suffering fairly minor injuries, like Aaron. Others, though, Aaron could see would need extensive care and even then might not survive. He was particularly concerned about the male nurse, Jeffrey. While there hadn't been much in the way of flammable material in the room, the blast had generated a brief but powerful heat wave that Jeffrey had taken nearly head-on – the entire left side of his body was shiny with burnt skin and flesh, and he shivered so badly with pain and shock that it took all three men to carry him to the space near the open window.

Part of the difficulty might also have been due to Daryl, who was clearly nursing more injuries concealed under the yellowing sweatshirt and pants he was forced to wear. Aaron kept glancing his way while keeping Isaac occupied. Each trip carrying a survivor to their side of the room resulted in Daryl moving with just a bit more care, his breathing too controlled to be natural exertion. Aaron didn't know what had been done to him or why, but he was deeply concerned that his friend was hurt more badly than he himself was. By the time they found the last person, there was a fine tremor running through Daryl's hands. But when he caught Aaron watching him, Daryl quickly clenched his fists and gave a slight shake of his head to warn off any questions.

He wanted to suggest again moving the injured out by way of the nearby stairs, using one of the less-damaged hospital beds, which all had wheels, to make the work easier on his friend. The ceiling, of what was left of it, seemed to be holding for now, with several minutes gone by since the last piece fell. _That you know of. Cracks could be spreading deeper throughout the Sanctuary._ Either by accident or design (and Aaron knew he was definitely in the dark about a lot of things where this whole turn of events was concerned), the bomb that didn't pack much fire or shrapnel seemed to have been just powerful enough to send a shock wave with potential to bring down the entire factory.

_Maybe that's what someone wanted,_ Aaron mused as he watched Murphy, Connor, and Daryl carefully wrap Jeffrey in a bedsheet to keep his limbs from dangling as they lifted him over their heads and placed him on the bedframe they'd balanced on the shower divider walls. _If the Sanctuary falls, where do all these people go? _Aaron hadn't seen the inside of the schoolhouse, but he knew the building wasn't nearly large enough to house everyone even just for sleeping. And while Aaron knew there were plenty of other communities in Negan's sphere of influence, the most obvious solution was Alexandria. _Nearly 35 homes, including the connecting townhouses, and many of them already standing empty, he'd be a fool not to use it. _But Aaron could also picture already the complications that would arise, the inevitable tension from being cramped in such close quarters with their enemies. And with his family and friends all essentially unarmed and defenseless.

Daryl was pulling himself up before either brother could protest and put out a restraining hand when Connor tried to follow, "These ain't built to hold a lot of weight." And so they all watched from below as Daryl cautiously maneuvered himself into a position where he could both turn and ease Jeffrey out the open window space. Watch as outstretched hands from bystanders who had, without any of them realizing, gathered outside and now reached in to help with the rescue effort. Watched Daryl motion for whoever it was to pause as Daryl frowned, gingerly felt around the window frame, and then yanked his sweatshirt over his head in a decisive move, using the grungy material to line the bottom of the frame and protect the injured from being dragged whatever remnants of glass remained. And whatever scenarios Aaron had been considering were wiped from his mind at the sight of Daryl's torso. He wasn't sure which was worse: the fresh marks overlapping each other, some well-defined boot impressions, clear evidence that Daryl's experience in as the Saviors' prisoner was a far cry from Aaron's relatively comfortable existence, or the scars that clearly testified to a life of previous abuse. Not that Aaron hadn't already guessed as much. Most people who knew Daryl were well aware of his aversion to even the gentlest touch, his unwillingness to open up emotionally, and had inferred an unpleasant childhood to varying degrees. But suspicions were one thing and confirmation quite another, and Aaron felt his heart breaking a bit for his friend and the frightened boy he must have been.

The thought served to remind Aaron of the terrified boy he currently had next to him, who had in all likelihood just witnessed his mother's death, and who was scared and hurt and more than a bit traumatized. So Aaron forced himself to turn his attention to the child he could help in the present, keeping the occasional sideways glance on the progress being made as Daryl, Connor, and Murphy worked in tandem to get the survivors out.

By the third one they had a system going, with Daryl staying perched on the divider walls while the brothers wrapped each person in whatever bedsheets they could find. Someone outside had passed Daryl a length of rope, which was looped carefully around the waist of the person they were lifting. With Daryl pulling gently from above and one brother on each end, they were able to keep the victims fairly level as they were hoisted up to the makeshift platform. Then Daryl would work with whoever was outside the window to ease the injured person out to what Aaron hoped was Beth, Dr. Carson, and whoever else worked in the other part of the hospital wing.

It was Aaron's turn. Everyone else except the boy had been pulled from the rubble, even the dead. He gave a quick grin to the child, "I'll be waiting for you right up top."

It was more than a bit awkward, being hoisted up five feet in the air to the makeshift platform. But once he was there, Aaron was hesitant to go through the window. Less than a foot between them, there was nowhere for Daryl to hide how badly his muscles were trembling with exertion, his features both pulled tight and sunken in from weight loss and constant stress, the deepening shades of red marks that would soon darken to purpled bruises. He didn't know if this was the first time or the latest in a continued state of mistreatment. To Aaron, it didn't matter. He'd hoped that Beth, with her connections and general presence, would have been able to shield Daryl somewhat, but there was no denying what was in front of him. Daryl was being starved, beaten, and worked beyond his limits. He wanted to say something, he wasn't sure what exactly.

"Daryl – "

"Let's go," a hand stretched towards him from the same direction as the voice. When Aaron looked, he was surprised to see that the person who'd been helping pull the injured and dead through the busted window was Negan himself.

With no excuses to linger, Aaron reluctantly turned to take the offered hand and began carefully shifting himself on the platform so he could maneuver safely through the tight opening to the outside.

"Watch your back," Daryl muttered at a near-whisper. He might have merely meant to avoid the few remaining glass shards in the window frame, but Aaron sensed the warning was intended to be for a different and more pressing danger. With Negan just inches away, all Aaron could do was nod in return.

The sun's glare seemed harsher than it should, and Aaron squinted against the brilliant light as he let himself be pulled a few feet to the side of the opening. As his vision adjusted, he realized that the Sanctuary's entire population was outside, gathered in tight clusters and most seemingly at a loss of what to do other than stare at the rescue operation taking place.

The boy, Isaac, was next to emerge. Still sitting on the gravel near the ground-level window, Aaron heard Daryl's raspy voice, "Keep him close."

Negan's acknowledging hum was just as quiet as he eased the child through the hole and out into the open air, deftly sliding him along the wall until he was between himself and Aaron.

The exchange between Daryl and Negan was all of five seconds but clearly belied an understanding, even a connection, between the two men that was completely incongruous with Daryl's physical condition. _Seriously, what the hell is going on?_ Aaron's interest was piqued.

The twins easily made their way out of the shower room and placed themselves on either side of Negan, spaced far enough away to appear casual but noticeably close enough to stand guard.

Daryl was last. And like the moment of the explosion, it seemed to happen too fast and too slow. Slow enough that he could see exactly what was about to happen. Fast enough that Aaron couldn't pull himself together and cross the few feet of distance between himself and his friend. Daryl's sneaker slipped in the gravel as he was hauling himself through the broken window. Normally, he would have righted his stance with no one the wiser, but he had pushed his body beyond its capabilities. So Daryl went down with a grunt on the jagged rocks and pavement, his weight falling heavily on his knees and forearms, head bowed as fatigue shuddered through his exhausted muscles. That Aaron could clearly see, and from the gasps and whispers around them, everyone in the Sanctuary could see, too, because Daryl's sweatshirt was still draped over the window frame, putting the private man's childhood scars on full display.

Aaron felt as if all his reflexes were locked on a time-delay today. His brain told him to get up, lay either the ragged sweatshirt or perhaps his own bloody scrubs over his friend. Not that it would undo the damage – Aaron knew from the slight shift in Daryl's frame that he, too, had realized his predicament, and what little of him hadn't already been discolored from his previous injuries was now flushed red with embarrassment. But by the time Aaron had gotten his muscles to cooperate with him, someone else was draping a familiar black leather jacket over Daryl's back and shoulders. Negan.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21: Red Sky at Morning, Part V

Negan was incensed. Irate. Furious. Whatever word meant so fucking pissed off that he was ready to swing Lucille at the next motherfucker to breathe in his direction – that's where his emotions were.

But he couldn't afford to show it. Which only pissed him off more. _Fuckers think they're going to burn down what's mine and take over the ashes, they've got another thing coming._ Negan might not know who all the players are – yet – but he understood the game. Any reaction on his part would be twisted into an overreaction, designed to make him appear out of control and unfit to be the Saviors' leader. So he'd play it cool, for now. But the sooner he put the kibosh on this whole Julius-Caesar-backstabbing bullshit, the better.

Wishing he had his old coach's whistle, Negan put two fingers to his lips and let out the loudest shrill sound he could manage. It did the trick – silence quickly fell over the crowd. "Everybody get your families together and group up by floors." He quickly gestured to separate sections of the common area. "Neighborhood watch for each hallway, take a head-count. Everyone else, as soon as your unit's been counted, take a knee. You lot," he turned to his trusted Saviors. "Take whoever would know what to look for and clear the school. Sooner we can get the kids back in, the calmer things'll get. And get a goddamn radio down to the engineering crew so we can find out what the damage is. If we're going to have to relocate, I want to know in the next hour."

As people scurried to follow orders, Negan took a moment to survey around, noting the Saviors he thought might potentially be turning against him. None of them seemed to be grouping up or spreading out with any kind of strategy. _This isn't the big take-down, they've got more in store, but not for now_. If anything, they seemed, like most everyone, to be focused on the medical operation taking place out in the open air as Dr. Carson, Beth, and a handful of nurses and others with varied degrees of medical expertise frantically worked to stabilize the injured.

The assisted living area was a smart target, Negan privately mused. High in the sympathy factor – everyone with half a heart would be clamoring for the heads of anyone who attacked defenseless old people and the ones who took care of them. But in terms of usefulness, the Sanctuary could afford to lose any or all of that room's occupants without sacrificing a lot in terms of productivity. If anything, it meant no longer wasting food or other resources on people who couldn't give back. Strategically, it was the ideal place for a bomb to literally give the most bang for its buck. _Assuming one was a sadistic bastard who didn't mind knocking off a few little old ladies to get what you want_. If the tactic weren't currently being used to undermine his authority, Negan could almost appreciate the practicality of it all. _And if Lassiter hadn't been caught making such a damn fuss earlier, they could've pulled this whole thing off and blame it, at least indirectly, on Alexandria. Speaking of…_

"Where's Lassiter?" Negan growled, adjusting his grip on Lucille and bringing her to bear. "That balding bastard better have some goddamned answers for me."

After a moment of slightly frenzied searching on the part of several Saviors, Fat Joseph timidly offered, "Maybe he's still in the cell? Did anyone think to let him out?"

"Aye, someone did," Connor McManus called out, a stormy expression on both his and his brothers' faces as they emerged from the factory. He dropped the cell key in Negan's outstretched hand. "The door was open, key still in the lock. But no sign of him."

Negan glanced absently behind him to where the child was still leaning half-against the wall and half-against Aaron, cradling his broken arm. Yet another thing he needed to deal with.

"Anybody see where Craig Lassiter went?" he called out over the crowd's murmuring.

Out of the corner of his eye, Negan saw Charlie Preston begin to step forward before stopping himself abruptly and then easing back to a seemingly casual stance near his bee boxes. With a quick glance, Negan tracked the old man's eye line to, of all people, Beth, who seemed to be communicating something meaningful without words before her eyes darted to Negan's and then back to the patient she was bandaging.

Murphy posited, "In the chaos, he could've walked right out the front gate with no one thinking twice about it. It's not as though he didn't know it was comin'."

"Clever fucker," Negan nodded. "Alright, check the garage, make sure all the vehicles are accounted for." He turned his attention back to the bulk of the Sanctuary's citizens, most of whom were waiting on their knees, children included. Negan gestured for those still standing to drop down as well and gave a lingering look at his wives who were grouped together near the medical greenhouse, assuring himself that everyone he gave a shit about was accounted for.

"First things first, we're checking the school, and as soon as we're sure it's safe, we'll get everyone back in class. Until we deal with this, no one leaves the Sanctuary without my say-so. Teachers who were planning to lead groups outside the fences today, take a minute and sort out new schedules with the ones using the upper-level classrooms. Combine classes or whatever. Those on watch who normally have rooftop spots, you're still on, but stay on ground level and spread yourselves out. Until the engineering crew gives us the okay to go back inside, no one sets foot in any of the buildings. As we clear the greenhouses, garage, barn, etc., folks who had afternoon shifts in those places can get back to work. Everyone else, no sense in wasting a bright sunshiny day. I seem to recall a growing need for our fields to be tended to. Weeds to pull, bugs to kill… so let's get to it. Jobs crew, split everyone up into sections for each crop, get a security detail set up on the perimeter. Today, people!" he added when it was evident that everyone was still frozen in place.

"Simon," Negan gestured for the man to join him. "Take half your crew and four trucks, one in each direction. I want Lassiter found. I want him alive, on his fucking knees in front of me, and I want him right fucking now. Simon," he grabbed the man's arm and held eye contact as he brought his barbed bat less than an inch from the man's cheek, "_Someone's_ lips are going to be kissing Lucille tonight." He let the implied, _if you don't bring me Lassiter, it's going to be you_ hang in the air as he turned away, swinging Lucille with an audible _woosh_. It was the closest he was willing to come to alerting Simon of his suspicions.

With most of the pressing logistics taken care of, Negan turned to the haphazard MASH unit his medical team had assembled in the yard. "Call me crazy but wouldn't your patients be better off indoors and with a little privacy? Move everyone into the Crypt, we'll run some extension cords out there to get you better lighting. At least there you can keep the dust and gravel out of their wounds. You two," he turned to the McManus brothers, "Grab some guys to help move all this shit over, keep an eye on things." The brothers nodded, and Negan knew they understood to put a security watch in place. With the Crypt having only one entrance, it would be easier to protect in case the day's morbid festivities weren't quite done with.

Negan dropped to a crouch near the boy who'd been at the center of today's excitement, "Hey kid, we meet again," he grinned. But the boy was too hurt and shocked to respond. Negan turned his gaze instead to Aaron, "At some point, you and I are going to need to chat about what went down in there," he tipped his head towards the busted window, "But until then, let's get the two of you over to the Crypt and get you patched up." He hoped Aaron got the unstated message that he and the boy should stay together. From the way Aaron kept his arms lightly wrapped around the injured child, Negan felt he'd gotten his point across. _And that just leaves…_

"Daryl," He finally turned his attention to the man still on his hands and knees, surrounded by gravel and shards of broken glass with Negan's own jacket draped over his shoulders. Negan briefly debated within himself whether to indulge a moment of personal curiosity about the scars that he'd seen but figured there would be time enough for that after he'd dealt with the mess someone had made of his Sanctuary. "That's a hell of a job you did just now, seems worth rewarding. Take the afternoon, go curl up in a corner somewhere out of the way where you won't make a nuisance of yourself. Something you need there, Doc?" he didn't bother turning around to address Beth, who'd quietly stepped up beside him.

"You could put Daryl near the Crypt, seeing as how you've got a watch setting up there already," she suggested.

Negan grinned as he thrust Lucille towards Beth so she could hold it while he picked up Daryl's discarded sweatshirt from the open window and shook out most of the glass before dropping it in a heap next to Daryl's hands. He casually scooped up his leather jacket and slid it back onto his own frame while Daryl scrambled to pull his own ragged garment back on, but Negan could still see the flush of embarrassment on the other man's cheeks even though he never lifted his gaze from the ground.

"And what, my darling Doc, are we going to do about you?" Negan brushed the back of his gloved fingers over the scar on Beth's cheek.

"I reckon you'll do whatever you think you gotta do," was Beth's quiet, but still slightly fiery, response. "I got folks to look after, so I guess you know where to find me whenever you make up your mind."

* * *

When he saw Beth circle around the side of the Crypt, Daryl figured it was his best chance both to return her knife and have a quick word without anyone noticing. He assumed, at least, that was her intent in suggesting he be kept close by there, and he wasn't about to let the opportunity pass.

Even hurting and tired as he was, quick reflexes kicked in to bring himself short before he nearly slammed into her. Hastily she accepted her blade and shoved a full canteen and a generous slice of rye bread into his hands.

"Can you track him?" She asked, her voice hushed but with a sense of urgency.

"What?"

"If you knew which way Lassiter went and could get outside the fences, could you track him?"

Daryl gnawed off a large chunk of bread and choked it down with a swig of water. "Yeah, probably, but it ain't what we ought to be doing. Need to be gettin' you outta here 'fore Negan decides to make good on those threats from earlier."

Beth rolled her eyes, "He ain't taking that iron to my face. He can act like he's toying with the idea to get you riled up all he likes, but he ain't gonna actually do it." After a quick glance around, she grabbed his sleeve and tugged him around the side of the factory's main building.

Daryl frowned as he pulled up alongside her, "I know you got a lot of faith in him, but I don't. Shit's going sideways and he ain't the type to put others before himself. Beth – " He stopped short and forced her to meet his eyes, "It's gonna get bloodier than it already is and I ain't sittin' by and watchin' you get hurt or worse when I said I's gonna protect ya. You gotta go, hide at the Lykins' farm where you'll be safe until this shit's over and done with, and you've gotta go now and that's that."

"You think I don't know they're gunnin' for me now?" Beth's face was drawn and more than a hint of fear in her eyes, but she pressed on, "But the fact of it is I got no way to get to the school without bein' noticed, and I ain't leaving without my kids. So we're gonna have to figure this out some other way. Sending Simon after that man is just another one of Negan's stupid tests. If Simon's loyal, no reason not to bring him back alive. If he ain't – "

"Then he's gotta make sure the bastard gets away so Negan can't beat the truth out of him," Daryl followed her line of logic, and then carried it further as they started walking again to wherever it was Beth was leading them, "But if he does get away, Negan's gonna need someone to blame for all this, and you're the next easiest target as the one who supposedly let those people in. Which means we still need to be thinkin' about how to get you and the kids outta here."

"Or, the sooner _you_ get out of the fence and the faster you can track him and get him back here, none of that'll matter." Beth stopped their progress around the side of the smallest of the three food-growing greenhouses, right next to the wood boxes that housed the beehives old Charlie Preston tended. As if on cue, the man himself ambled up to them with a frown deepening the wrinkles on his face.

"The one they're lookin' for walked himself right out the gate not even two minutes after the ground shook, cut 'cross the barley field headin' north, north-west into those woods there. Why didn't you want me telling Negan?" he queried, a skeptical, but not entirely hostile, glare fixed on Daryl as he spoke.

"Not about Negan," Beth offered. "But maybe some other folks made it happen. Same ones we been talkin' about."

Charlie seemed to understand her vague response, because he nodded knowingly. "What's in yer head, there, Doc?"

"Ya really think a bunch of city folk're gonna be able to track him down?" she smirked.

Charlie snorted, "Ain't that the goddamned truth. Not a lick of sense, the lot of 'em. Not useful sense anyhow. Best be leavin' the real work in this world for the rednecks and country girls," he grinned.

"Ya mind…" Beth trailed off, eyebrows raised and a sugary-sweet smile on her face.

The old man rolled his eyes, "Yeah, yeah… ain't like I got anything better to do."

Daryl didn't understand much of the subtext behind their conversation, and Beth didn't give him time to ask, either. "The opening's small and won't last long, but it should be enough." She gave two sharp raps on the beehive box closest to her with the hilt of her knife and then took a quick step back, pulling Daryl with her.

Three things happened at once. The honeybees, angered by the disturbance to their hive, flew out in a frenzied swarm. Their buzzing not only alerted the bees in the other boxes to do the same, they drew the attention of the nearby fence walkers, who stirred and began reaching for the cloud of noisy insects, straining at the poles and chains that kept them in place. And Charlie launched himself around the corner towards the center of the main courtyard in what seemed like just another of his less-than-lucid rants.

Beth nudged Daryl's arm and nodded towards the fence. She was right, the opening was small. But when all the walkers mindlessly reached for the bees, there was a gap, not quite a straight shot, but close, and just wide enough that a person could slip through without being grabbed by the dead.

"Go now," she urged. "Before the walkers get bored and before folks start coming around to work this field."

Daryl pushed the canteen back into her hands after a final drink. He needed to move quickly, and anything in his hands would just get in the way. "I ain't back by sunset, you take the kids and go."

She nodded and quickly turned to the walkers to the left of where Daryl was now hauling himself over the fence, drawing their attention and widening the narrow space where he could pass through the Sanctuary's living moat. As soon as he was free of the last layer of the dead, he broke into a sprint, knowing Charlie would only draw people's attention for so long before they turned back to their watch positions, and he needed to cross the tree line before that happened.

Once he was far enough into the woods to be sure he wouldn't be seen, Daryl paused and rested his weight against a tree. He hadn't run in a month, his ribs were aching from the blows he'd taken earlier (was that really just an hour or two ago?), and he needed to focus and save his strength. Judging by the sun, he had at most six hours of daylight left. Not that he'd be giving up and going back empty-handed, but tracking in the dark was nearly impossible, and this was one trail he couldn't afford to muck up. Even if he trusted that Beth would both keep her word and be resourceful enough to get herself and her children away from the Saviors, Daryl knew that, if he didn't return before dark and she was forced to go to ground at Caiman and Nicole's farm, Negan would have no problem leading a team of angry Saviors to Alexandria both to reassert control and punish him and Beth in the process.

Thankfully, whatever things Craig Lassiter had been in his past life, a woodsman wasn't one of them. Broken branches, trampled undergrowth, he couldn't have been easier to track if he'd set off fireworks. Finding his trail and catching up with the man were two different things, of course, and Daryl hadn't yet given any thought as to how he'd restrain the man and force him back to the Sanctuary, or how they'd get back in once they got there, or what he'd do if Lassiter had already met up with friends. And Daryl didn't doubt that the man was heading to a place where he felt safe. It was in his boot prints – heavy and clumsy, but no skidding. Lassiter wasn't running as if being chased, and he wasn't wandering aimlessly, either. He might not be the most comfortable in the forest, but he knew which way he was headed and he was confident enough not to rush. That his prey was moving at a measured pace worked in Daryl's favor; that he was likely meeting up with whoever he was working with did not. Simon – and, like Beth, Daryl was happy to assume it was Simon behind all these mind-games until proved otherwise – may have trouble with Negan if he brought Lassiter's corpse back to the Sanctuary, but Daryl's dead body wouldn't be a problem for him at all.

_Just gonna have to take your own advice,_ he thought to himself as he picked up his pace. _Like you told Tim, take what looks like a weakness and turn it into a strength._ Easier said and done when dealing with walkers, who had only one basic need and were predictable in how they went about getting it.

But the living weren't all that different when it came down to the bare bones of it, Daryl mused, noting a slight turn in his quarry's trail. A quick assessment of his senses told him why – the sound of running water off to the right, the trail was now running parallel to an unseen stream. He put a little more energy into his pace as he thought it through. Negan needed power and control and people to fall at his feet. _Especially women._ Beth didn't necessarily fawn over him like the rest, though; she liked people including Negan, but didn't necessarily trust easily. And Negan needed Beth because she helped him keep control. To keep Beth, Negan got Daryl, and used both a carrot and stick to keep him in line. Negan both bullied and charmed to get what he needed. Simple and predictable. _What does Simon need? And how's he gonna go about getting it?_

It was a question for another time, because Daryl heard the quiet of the woods that signaled the local wildlife was disturbed, and not by him. He moved easily enough through even unfamiliar trees that he didn't distress the animals. Lassiter was close, crashing recklessly through the forest. And from the thinning of the trees and the increased light coming through, so was a clearing. Or a road. He needed to close in quickly and get this done before Lassiter broke through the tree line. Part of him wished he'd kept Beth's knife but thought better of it. He needed the man alive, and the weapon might prove too tempting. But all that man's damned noise was bound to draw a stray walker or two if it hadn't already, and the situation was complicated enough.

He could see the back of him now and made sure to stay in the man's blind spot as he closed the last few feet. Daryl knew his strengths – no fancy kicks like Jesus or cop training chokeholds like Rick – a quick burst of speed and Daryl body-checked Lassiter into a tree and then tackled him to the ground with a grunt.

The man struggled beneath him, but Daryl got a knee into Lassiter's back and leaned his weight into it, effectively pinning the man to the ground and leaving his hands free to toss the other man's gun and knife safely out of reach. "Where ya think you're going, huh? Got yourself a nice ride waitin' up ahead?"

"You should have stayed out of it!" Lassiter squirmed uselessly under Daryl's weight. "Wasn't none of your fucking business, and now you've gone and fucked yourself over, haven't you?"

"Y'all made it my fucking business," Daryl growled, "And I think you got that fucked over part backwards. So which was it, huh? Got someone comin' to pick you up? Or were you gonna hoof it all the way?"

"All the way where?" he smirked, "You don't even know what you've gotten yourself into, you dumbass hillbilly."

Daryl gripped the back of Lassiter's head and ground his face into the dirt, "I dunno, this dumbass hillbilly's got a pretty good sense of direction. One or two outposts this way maybe, but I'm thinkin' it's a near straight shot to Hilltop, and the Saviors' regular run would've had them going there today anyhow. So this dumbass hillbilly's thinkin' that, if I hadn't gone and fucked up your plans, your wife would've still set off that bomb but you'd've been in a truck headed off into the sunset at Hilltop with no one the wiser."

Even with his face half-smothered in a mix of dead leaves and soft earth, Daryl could hear Lassiter chuckle darkly. "Wife?" Daryl gave him just enough leeway to turn his head to the side. Spit mixed with dirt on his lips as he snorted, "Like I'd actually be hooked up with that dumb bitch. I'll give her this much, she knew her C4's from her TNT's, growing up playing around at her Daddy's construction sites. You got any fucking idea how hard it was to find someone who actually knew what to do with that shit other than stick a long fuse in and hope not to blow their hands off in the process?"

"Yeah, his name was Eugene. Got his head bashed to bits 'bout a month ago," Daryl retorted.

But Lassiter kept on as if Daryl hadn't interrupted, "And then get her and her little bag of tricks inside Negan's home base with legitimate access to where we'd need her _and_ still keep her in line?"

The last bit confused Daryl. "Ain't like you gotta have some special pass to visit old folks on their deathbeds."

"Aww, is the dumb redneck all confused? Did he think those old farts were the only ones we want to be rid of?" He laughed softly, "Not that it matters now. Bitch went and took herself out before we could get her where we really wanted her. Guess we're all out of bomb-makers now. Could be worse. Hell, it is for you. Your dumb ass is out of time." Lassiter grinned and sucked in a deep breath, and Daryl nearly lost his balance getting his free hand around the other man's throat to choke off his shouts. Daryl had heard the low rumble of the truck's engine and the soft squeal and hiss of its brakes, but he'd hoped that Lassiter had been too wrapped up in his gloating to notice.

But now the man was struggling in earnest, both for air and the attention of whoever had pulled up to meet him, and Daryl had a choice to make. He looked around him, as if the woods somehow held the answer to all his problems. Eyes landing on Lassiter's discarded weapons, he made up his mind. _This might be the dumbest decision you've ever made,_ he thought as he hauled Lassiter to his feet, fingers closing around the knife hilt and slipping the weapon up his sleeve. His memory flashed back to the feel of the funeral home's doorknob turning in his grip. _Alright, the second dumbest._

"What the hell are you doing?" Lassiter exclaimed as Daryl pulled him with tight grips on his neck and waistband directly towards the sound of the idling truck. "Have you lost your damned mind?"

"Jury's out," Daryl quipped, thoughts flying as he scrambled together what to say when he broke through the trees that would not only keep him alive but put him at an advantage.

It wasn't Simon, but Daryl definitely recognized the men in the truck as ones who regularly accompanied him on runs to Hilltop. _Doesn't rule him out. Negan said to take four trucks and go different directions._

"Got him!" Daryl called out confidently, as if he'd been expecting and was glad to see the group gathered around the vehicle. Some, he observed, were still standing or crouched in the back of the open-air cargo space. All of them were armed.

"You dumb shit," Lassiter started, "They know! They're the ones – "Daryl quickly jerked the fistful of shirt he had twisted in his grip back so the front collar choked Lassiter's words.

"Negan sent me to track him, thought y'all might have trouble spotting him from the road," Daryl offered in explanation when they reached the crew of Saviors.

"Did he?" one of the men smiled grimly before pulling the walkie-talkie from his belt clip. "Maybe we just confirm that with the big boss."

"Maybe ya don't," Daryl returned. "'Cause y'all ain't Negan." Predictably, everyone in and around the truck stiffened and had their hands on their guns. "Which is good. I ain't Negan, either." Daryl went for broke. "I want in."

The man with the radio, whose name Daryl didn't know, stepped into Daryl's personal space. "I don't know what you think you're – "

"Save it," Daryl cut him off. "This dumbass spilled the whole goddamned thing to me out in the woods without even thinkin' to ask whose side I's on." The embarrassed flush rising in Lassiter's face was the edge Daryl needed. The crew didn't move away but most noticeably relaxed their grips and trigger fingers.

"Say he did," the man who seemed to be the leader conceded. "Why should we let you in?"

"You need me." Daryl did his best to stare the man into believing him. He was no salesman or politician. If Merle were here, he'd be in his element, weaving witty one-liners in a complicated verbal web that both confused and ensnared his prey. _You gonna let a little thing like that stop you, little brother? The hell'd I let you tag along all those years for if you ain't gonna learn nothin'?_ His dead brother's voice growled in Daryl's head, egging him on much like it had when he'd fallen down the cliff looking for Sophia. And just like then, he had a girl's safety riding on his ability to suck it up and do what needed doing but now, no offense to Sophia's memory, he cared a hell of a lot more about Beth than he ever had the little girl he barely knew. So he jutted his chin out the slightest bit and forced himself not to swallow, knowing the movement down his Adam's apple would be taken for weakness.

"And just what do we need you for?"

"To kill Negan. And take the blame for it." Because that was the answer to the million-dollar question. Simon (or whoever) wanted what Negan had, the power and control, but he didn't have Negan's charm to bring people to him. Not without a push. So he needed Negan gone but couldn't be the one to do it. "Maybe you'd hoped folks still at Alexandria would get pissed off enough to take him out for you, or that you'd get that woman into Negan's bed so she could set off whatever's left of Eugene's firebombs. But Alexandria ain't fightin' back and the woman's gone and blown herself up rather than play ball with you."

Lassiter jerked free of Daryl's grip, "Hey, I never said she – "

"Yeah, ya did. Said she needed access. Only one place in that whole goddamned compound that no one else goes is where Negan lives. Only ones allowed in are his kids and his wives. 's why you needed her. Maybe she'd let on that you were beatin' her and her kid, but probably not. Long as you made enough of a show of splitting up. Negan's got thing for readin' people. Her sidling up to him actually feeling scared and lost and lookin' for someone to take care of her – he'd swallow that shit down with a goddamned smile on his face. Only a woman, one of _his_ women, could get in there without anyone noticing." Daryl turned back to the truck's crew. "But that's off the table now. So you need another way. And yeah, you could maybe lure him out somewhere, say it was walkers, or an accident, or some group like Alexandria or Hilltop. But there'd always be someone who'd question it, always someone not happy with how y'all want to run the Saviors. You need an enemy. A reason that folks gotta fight and that the ones fightin' deserve more than the ones they gotta protect. Like I said, you need me."

"And you'd kill Negan, just like that? Why? What's in it for you?"

"I don't care who wins." Daryl knew he wasn't the greatest liar – again, that prize belonged to the older Dixon brother. But then, this wasn't all that far from the truth, either. "I don't care who's in charge. All I care about is protecting what's mine."

"What, we give you all of Alexandria Safe Zone? No fucking way."

"Didn't say that," Daryl shook his head. "Ain't talking about the whole damn group, just me and mine. Me, Beth, the kids, Aaron, Maggie. A handful of folks still at Alexandria. The rest, take 'em or leave 'em. You guarantee that when it's done, I can take what's mine and go."

"Go where?"

"Does it matter?" Daryl countered. "Not here. Not anywhere that's Negan." He paused for a brief moment and then risked pushing, "I know you ain't the one to make this call. But you can't be taking too long clearin' it, either. Negan already knows somethin's up."

"How you figure that? We can write today's mess off as its own thing, just a crazy lady at her breaking point, whatever."

Daryl could see that most were getting on board and decided to go for one final push. "Negan showed me Briar's Creek, what's left of it, anyhow." He knew he'd hit his mark when several of them couldn't help their faces showing surprise. And recognition. "Negan thought dropping Beth's name in my ear would be enough to get me to roll over. And ever since it didn't work, he's been tryin' to find new ways to butter me up. He found those women, the ones who made it out of there. They got real long memories and damn good descriptions." The group was visibly frustrated, heads shaking and muttered whispers of "Shit!" and "Fucking bitches!" making Daryl want to smirk but he held a straight face to close his argument, "How long you think he's gonna sit on that before decidin' to start swinging? And if it gets out, even if you kill Negan, nobody at that Sanctuary's gonna follow y'all."

"Alright, alright," the leader waved him off. "Shit. You're in, I'll talk with Simon tonight. How long has Negan known about Briar's Creek? And what does he know about Hilltop?"

_That's it._ They'd said Simon's name. Negan could kill that whole damned crew for all Daryl cared if it got him off Rick and everyone else's backs. Outwardly, he shrugged, "When he made me drive him to the Kingdom, we stopped off in a field on the way. He wanted to see if any of them recognized me, said he was makin' sure Alexandria weren't involved, too. Weren't no camp there, they come from some other place. After, Negan told me what happened. He ain't all the way there yet, but he's closin' in. As for Hilltop," Daryl decided to go for straight honesty, having too many missing pieces to create a reasonable false narrative, "Negan ain't said much. Only that he knows that what he tells Gregory ain't what Gregory tells the rest of his people. And he don't trust Simon to be reliable passin' on messages, either."

The leader nodded, "Might have to shut Gregory down before all's said and done, he'd flip sides too easily if Negan pushes him. Hell, if we knew where those women were holed up, we could shut them down too while we're at it, buy ourselves some more time."

One of the men still standing in the back of the truck bed interjected angrily, "We don't need more time, we need to get this done. Been dragging our asses for months now. We should just kill him and be done with it. Anyone who fights it, get rid of them too."

"Simon wants a minimum of lives lost, at least on our end." With several in the group nodding in agreement, the leader turned back to Daryl, who'd been using the time to carefully study faces and commit them to memory. "What do you think? What would you need and how long would it take for you to hold up your end?"

"Not today or tomorrow," Daryl considered, "Gotta put some distance on all this so things calm down. More shocked they are, more likely folks are gonna fall in line with whoever steps up and seems to have their shit together."

The leader agreed, "Not too long, though, can't have Negan getting _his_ shit together. We'll work with Simon and the others, nail down a timeline and a plan. And he'll probably want to talk to you, sort out details. But you've got a more immediate problem."

"How's that?"

"Negan's expecting you to bring this asshole," he tipped his chin towards Lassiter, "back so he can spill his guts. And so Negan can enjoy himself really spilling his guts. You come back empty-handed, he's probably gonna burn your face off. Given how we left things, he's definitely going to take that iron of his to your pretty little wife."

Daryl shrugged, making a show of being nonchalant. "She's got an idea of how to get herself out of that mess. As for me, that ain't much of a problem. I ain't goin' back empty-handed – " Daryl gripped the knife hilt from where he'd used the shoulder roll to let it slide from inside his sleeve and quickly thrust it into Lassiter's throat. "- and he ain't gonna talk."

He pulled the blade out and quickly twisted the man away from the group so the arterial spray wouldn't splash their clothes too badly. He didn't have to look far to find a few straggling walkers emerging from the woods, drawn by the sound of their conversation. _Right when ya need 'em._ Deliberately turning his back on the stunned men at the truck, Daryl began half-marching, half-dragging Lassiter towards the dead before he bled out. He'd need a couple of bite marks on Lassiter's corpse to make things convincing.

"See?" he called back, "Problem solved."

* * *

**Big thanks to everyone who follows, favorites, and reviews! It's super-exciting to see so many are interested in what happens next. More to come soon! **


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22: Red Sky at Morning, Part VI

Normally, Aaron would appreciate a certain urban architecture beauty in the way the sunset's light played on the metal struts in the Sanctuary's common area. He supposed he should be in a better mood – his greatest injury was a broken ankle that had been carefully examined and wrapped. Dr. Carson was fairly confident that he could be off the crutches in a few weeks; Aaron privately planned to switch to a cane as soon as possible to free up at least one hand for work. Of those who'd survived the blast, five of the elderly were fairly stable. One was still unconscious and therefore a cause for concern. But not as badly off as Jeffrey, the male nurse who had been Aaron's primary boss since arriving at the Savior's compound. The combination of burns and battered limbs were too much for his body to handle, and he'd slipped so deeply unconscious throughout the afternoon that most of the medical staff were whispering among themselves that he might not last more than a few days.

But as tragic as that was, the fact remained that the ones who had died had no surviving family – even Jeffrey wasn't attached beyond basic friendships. So while everyone at the Sanctuary was shocked and upset by the explosion, no one was mourning the death of a loved one. Except the McManus brothers, who were channeling their grief into a hyper-focused awareness and pent-up rage. And Isaac. The boy was so traumatized and in shock, both from his own injuries and from losing his mother, that'd he'd alternately napped or sat unresponsive, wide eyes staring at something only he could see. Aaron had stayed close to him throughout the afternoon but, even though the boy had initially interacted with him in the shower room, he'd grown silent as the hours wore on.

Negan had come into the makeshift medical ward three times that afternoon. The first visit, he'd walked directly up to Aaron's cot and tersely demanded a play-by-play of the events leading up to the bombing. Aaron had hesitated, his gaze flickering to the child sharing the narrow bed-space. The boy had already seen his mother's last moments and shouldn't have to relive them through Aaron's description. Instead of taking Aaron to the side for privacy, Negan had signaled for Murphy to pick Isaac up and carry him outdoors. After relaying what he'd seen up to the moment when he lost consciousness, Negan abruptly cut Aaron off and walked out of the Crypt, tossing a curt "Nope" over his shoulder before Aaron could even get past the "Can I" part of his question.

The second time, Negan had gone to Dr. Carson and asked for an update on each patient before barking out Beth's name and signaling for her to follow him. They went too far away for anyone to get the full gist of their conversation, but everyone in the room went near-silent at Negan's furious shouts and those (like Aaron) with even a limited view through the open door watched spell-bound as Negan angrily waved a manila folder in Beth's face while she stood with her arms crossed, slowing curling in on herself as he cut repeatedly cut off whatever words she tried to offer. Beth had returned several minutes later with a stormy and slightly fearful expression and quickly busied herself with work, speaking to no one for the rest of the afternoon.

Now, he couldn't find her. Aaron hadn't seen her, in fact, since they'd been given the all-clear to move back into the Sanctuary's main building. Parts of the building were off-limits until reconstruction was completed: the medical wing was closed except for a supply closet and one small exam room that jutted out from the main factory, and the apartments directly above the area where the bombing occurred were restricted as well. The people who lived in those spaces were temporarily reassigned to the fifth floor, filling in three sides of the building, even the interior apartments.

They were the least desirable spaces, Aaron had learned, because they weren't built to be anything other than offices. When the factory had been designed, its architects had envisioned it to be the center of a new kind of suburban community, one where home and work spaces were married together, with building ground floor spaces reserved for businesses and the upper floors as residential. The factory that not only acted as the planned community's geothermal power source but also as commercial office space was no different, with the 3rd-6th floors hosting apartments all along the exterior walls, where windows and natural lighting made the otherwise small one-and two-bedroom floor plans more desirable. But the core of the factory was the massive chimney vent for the furnace that required thick concrete walls to shield the rest of the structure from the intense heat, which meant rooms that bordered it couldn't have any sources of natural lighting. And while the Sanctuary's electrical power was all but guaranteed to last lifetimes, the air conditioning had long run dry of the necessary coolant, which meant that any room without windows got intensely uncomfortable without the possibility of a breeze.

But mid-April, the temperature was still pleasant enough that those rooms weren't unbearable and, in any event, it was only until construction was completed on the flooring, or at least far enough along that the engineering crew felt it was safe. The medical ward had been moved into a couple of interior rooms on the second floor and, having spent the last hour there, Aaron could attest that it was reasonably comfortable, at least as a temporary set-up.

All in all, the whole day could have turned out a lot worse, and it was reflected in the Saviors' general mood. Negan had called an impromptu meeting for that night, and while some around the factory floor commented on how hard it had been to leave their kids upstairs with nerves still so frazzled, Aaron was probably the most uneasy-feeling person there. No Beth, no Daryl, and the furnace was lit with the iron inside already glowing red in anticipation.

Aaron wasn't stupid. He might not fully understand everything going on, but he'd had enough clues to put together a general idea of the trouble brewing at Negan's stronghold. And he'd seen the distress in Beth's demeanor that afternoon (completely understandable in Aaron's mind – he knew first-hand from that fateful night on the road how it felt to be the focus of Negan's ire). No, he wasn't stupid at all. Someone was going to pay for today's attack. And Aaron was sincerely concerned that it might be Beth.

And that it would be tonight.

Because the third time Negan had come in, he'd gone to Dr. Carson, whispered in his ear, and they'd walked over to Aaron but focused their collective attention on the unresponsive boy next to him. Negan had grinned softly, "Hey, little man, the Doc here's going to give you something to help you get a good night's sleep."

And before either Aaron or Isaac could open their mouths to protest, Dr. Carson had swiped an alcohol-soaked cotton ball on an exposed patch of skin above the boy's cumbersome cast and the thin-gauge syringe quickly delivered its contents.

As the child's eyes had fluttered closed, Negan straightened up, "You're sure he'll be out 'til morning?"

"Definitely, that much will have him out twelve hours at least."

"But it's not too strong for him?" Aaron had interjected, feeling a hot streak of protectiveness for the newly-orphaned boy and not too thrilled at the casual approach the two men were taking to drugging him.

Carson's expression had been benign, but his tone slightly demeaning to Aaron's ears, "It's fine, perfectly mild enough for his size." He'd turned his body back to Negan as if to dismiss Aaron from the conversation happening just inches from his bed, "Do you want to keep him here overnight?"

"Nah, I'm taking him with me, have the wives keep an eye on him for tonight, or at least during the meeting. Folks are bound to say some nasty shit about his mom, least we can keep him sheltered from the worst of it for a little while."

"So you think it was just her?" Dr. Carson had inquired.

"We'll know for sure when Simon brings her husband back. I'll be _very_ interested in what he hast to say about all this," Negan's dark tone had clashed with his winning smile, leaving both Aaron and Dr. Carson mildly disturbed.

But Simon wasn't back, and the time was ticking down to when Negan had called everyone to a mandatory meeting. No Simon. No Daryl, whose absence more people were noticing – and commenting on – by the minute. And no Beth. Just a bare metal table and a single chair set up, seemingly for Negan to address the crowd from. And the heat from the furnace making the already warm, humid air uncomfortably heavy.

Because he'd been actively looking for her, Aaron noticed Beth slip in quietly while everyone else's attention was drawn by Negan's entrance from above. Her expression was closed, whatever she was thinking or feeling held back by a clenched jaw and hooded eyes that subtly swept over the kneeling crowd until they landed on Aaron.

_Daryl?_ She mouthed, holding eye contact.

Aaron shook his head with the smallest movement he could manage. Beth's nod of acknowledgement was equally slight, her gaze breaking away to track Negan's measured steps towards the front of the assembly. Just before he could reach the table and chair set up, Beth took her hand off her knee and, using her bent leg to hide her actions, put her hand out towards Aaron as if to signal _stop_ or _wait_.

Cautiously, he nodded to show he'd seen, but he didn't quite know how to interpret what she wanted. Wait for what?

"Today has been one fucking hell of a day," Negan began, gesturing for the crowd to return to their seats. "We lose people. Hell, we all know that. Ain't so damn different from the world before. We lose people to accidents, to sickness, to old age. But what we do not expect, in our home, our Sanctuary from the world turned to shit, is to lose people to violence. And I cannot have that. WE cannot have it, not and still call ourselves Saviors. Those responsible have to be punished. Simple as that. Because the people we lost today – Sarah Abbott, Father Donovan, and, as of about ten minutes ago, Jeffrey Sorenson – they deserve justice."

Negan paused until the gasps and murmurs died down; the gossip mill had already circulated word of the two older patients' deaths, but the nurse's passing was fresh news. Inwardly, Aaron grieved for another reason. Yes, he would miss the friendly man, but more than that, his death left the hospital staff even more short-handed than they'd already been, making Aaron's chances of being set free to go home to his family anytime soon even dimmer than before.

"Four of our own are dead," Negan resumed pacing in the cleared space with Lucille on his shoulder, "The three I just mentioned, and we'll give them a proper send-off tomorrow, and the one who made the bomb in the first place, Ruby Lassiter. And we could leave it at that. Be easier, wouldn't it? She did the deed and died because of it, problem fucking solved."

He stopped in the center and swung Lucille slowly around to point at everyone in the crowd, "But we are the Saviors. We don't build this world and keep this world by doing things the easy way and letting shit sit around and stink up our own backyard. Our people who died today, our people who are injured, our people who put themselves on the front lines to haul them out of that wreck, our people who took care of and are still looking after the ones who got hurt, their family and friends – it trickles down to all of us. We _all_ deserve the kind of justice that lets us know we have well and fucking truly dealt with today and _everyone_ who made it possible. Because we are the Saviors. We do what has to be done, no matter how hard it might be."

Negan's words echoed around the giant space. But Aaron could only keep his eyes on Beth as she leaned against the wall off to the side. In every other meeting, she'd sat with the rest of the group, but now she seemed to be distancing herself on purpose.

When Negan spoke again, his voice was softer, almost conversational. Aaron wasn't fooled. He'd heard this tone before, on the road, the nonchalant description of their situation just before he'd bludgeoned Eugene. "Some of you might have heard about a little incident we had during lunch today. A situation that might very well be connected to what's brought us all together tonight. I'd hoped – "

The metal door at the top of the staircase hit the wall as it swung open, drawing everyone's attention to the raised platform. From his seat, Aaron couldn't see who or what was up there, but those who could were immediately whispering and nudging those around them. Multiple sets of heavy feet plodded steadily down the steel staircase until they were fully in Aaron's view. Simon led the heavily-armed cluster of Saviors to the front of the room, and in the middle of the pack was Daryl of all people, pulling a bound and hooded figure along with him. Aaron flashed the briefest of glances at Beth, and even she seemed surprised to see Daryl with Simon's crew.

But the noise of the Saviors' boots on the metal stairs or the muttered comments from the audience couldn't mask the tale-tell snarls from Aaron's ears. Simon yanked off the hood, revealing the captured man's face and confirming Aaron's suspicions.

"You brought me a fucking corpse," Negan moved into Simon's space, completely unfazed at how close it put him to the walker's snapping teeth, a simmering rage building in his voice, "I asked you to bring me Craig Lassiter, alive, and instead all I get is this dead fucker. I wanted to question him. Needed him to explain to me how his wife ended up with internal bruising, a beaten and now fucking catatonic son, and, oh yeah, a fucking bomb! What in the fucking fuck do you expect me to get out of this? And you," Negan turned his attention to Daryl and brushed Lucille under his chin and along his jawline, "This may be the most interesting thing you've ever done."

Aaron could only watch from his place on the bench as Negan and Daryl locked eyes for an intense moment until Daryl slowly sank to his knees, allowing one of the other Saviors to pull the walker from his grip and hold it off to the side. The rest of Simon's crew slowly edged away from where Daryl knelt, leaving him in a circle with Negan directly facing him.

"Tell me," Negan eased Lucille through Daryl's oily strands of hair, the barbs parting irregular paths through the stringy locks, "why I don't fucking finish what I started in that damned clearing?"

"It wasn't his fault."

Everyone, even Negan, was surprised by Simon coming to Daryl's defense. "He tracked Lassiter through the woods just like you told him to. He was catching up to him as they both came towards the old state road to Leesburg."

"And you saw this?" Negan questioned.

"No," Simon admitted. "I sent David that way."

"Davie, talk to me."

The man sidled in a little closer, "Like he said, we were driving north, looking for signs that Craig had come that way, when the two of them came busting out of the trees. There was a good bit of cleared space between the road and the woods, and they were both running for it, Daryl closing in. Craig must've realized he couldn't outrun him, 'cause he turned and went at Daryl with his knife. That's when we all got out, started running towards them. Daryl managed to get the knife away, but that's when Craig spotted us, and he pulled away and ran back for the woods. By then, a couple of rotters were coming out of the trees… He just ran right into them. Not that I think he meant to, just happened. We put the dead ones down but by then, the damage had been done."

Negan tipped his head, considering the situation, before turning his attention back to Daryl, "Did he say anything during your little tussle?"

Daryl shook his head slightly, "Just that he wasn't going back."

Negan narrowed his eyes and stepped closer to Daryl, "Earlier today, Craig Lassiter accused you of being the one who hurt his boy. What's to say you didn't make sure he ended up dead, either because it's true and you wanted to shut him up, or because it wasn't, and he just plain pissed you off by putting the idea out there?"

Aaron watched Daryl's back straighten as he responded, "Because him bein' dead doesn't help Beth."

Something about Daryl's answer seemed to satisfy Negan, because he relaxed his stance and took several steps back. "Daryl, you are absolutely goddamned right about that." He swung Lucille around to gesture to Dwight, "Help our friend here off to his usual spot. And keep a good grip on him. He may not like what's coming next."

As Dwight half-led, half-dragged a slightly resistant Daryl to the wall near the furnace, Aaron leaned back to mutter, "What's going on?"

"Don't know," Connor answered, his voice equally low. Aaron turned his gaze away from Negan to see that Murphy had finally joined their table.

"What'd I miss?"

"Not much. Yet. The boy tucked away?" Connor responded.

"Aye, Mikey's keeping an eye out. And Sherry's with him, she's got a good head on her shoulders. Looks like you've gotten all patched up, you alright there?" Murphy squeezed Aaron's shoulder good-naturedly. But Aaron could only nod as Negan's voice rose.

"Might as well take that fucker off to the fences," Negan dismissed the Savior wrangling the walker, "Bastard can at least be useful there." He turned back to the group, "Yes siree, you are fucking right. Because dead man walking there is being less than conversational, and I still need to know how the fuckity fuck a wife-beating, child-abusing son of a fucking bitch who drove his wife so crazy in the head that the only way out she saw was to blow herself to Hell," Negan paused to pick up the folder from the table behind him, "got into my Sanctuary. And all I've got to go on is a bunch of goddamned paperwork."

He held the file folder aloft in front of the group but kept his gaze trained on the concrete floor in front of him, something Aaron had never seen him do. Negan didn't look down, didn't lower his head for anyone. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"Doc." Negan didn't change his stance, but his words were clearly for Beth, who was still leaning against the side wall. "According to that medical check you did for me this afternoon, we should have at the very fucking least sent that jackass on his merry way the second he showed up in our Sanctuary, am I right or am I fucking right?"

Aaron didn't have to turn around to know that everyone's eyes were on her by this point, but Beth didn't bother to look at the crowd, keeping her gaze locked on Negan and push herself off the wall to stand upright. She gave a sharp nod and clarified, "Even without havin' Ruby's body, or lookin' in those folders, the proof's on Isaac's body. Someone's been hurtin' him, now and before he got here."

"And is it not the whole goddamn point coming through your offices first for you or Dr. Carson to make sure that we do not bring that kind of filthy shit into our home?"

"That's right."

"And what did we agree would be the punishment someone who stupidly open us up this kind of damage?"

"They would get the iron," Beth's voice was low.

Negan dropped his volume to match hers and finally turned to lock eyes with her, "And who," he waived the file towards her, "let them in?"

Beth stared back, "The file says I did." She carried on as if no one was making a sound despite the many gasps and whispers echoing in the big open space of the factory floor, "I never met them before this week."

"But we can't prove that, can we?"

Beth shook her head.

"The bastard in question's dead, mom blown to bits, and the boy's so goddamn shaken up he can't even put two fucking words together. So unless you have an explanation as to how this could have happened, how your initials signing off on them coming in could have gotten on these pages along with clear proof that you knew this shit was going down under all our fucking noses…"

Connor whispered, "Carson, it's got to be."

"Or a nurse. Or anyone, really," Murphy countered, "It's not as if anything is really under lock and key around here. Well, except him," he tipped his head towards Daryl, who was on his knees with his back ramrod straight and his jaw clenched so tightly Aaron could see the slight tremor in his cheek even from a distance.

"You know what to do, so we might as well get it done. Rules are rules. And the rules keep us alive." Beth strode with a calm that bordered on confidence across the width of the factory floor towards Negan.

"The fuck?" Murphy was nearly on his feet before Connor pulled him back down.

"She won't call anyone out to face the iron if she doesn't have proof. But he can't mean to actually do it. It's Doc for Christsakes, he knows she didn't let something like this slip past her," Connor tried to reason.

"You want to tell them that?" Murphy snarked, yanking his arm free from his brother's grip.

Sure enough, the entire room seemed to be buzzing with tense, upset energy as Beth closed the distance between herself and Negan. Unlike the last time Negan had ironed one of their number, no one seemed willing to sit calmly by while Beth's face was branded. But none so badly as Daryl, who Dwight couldn't hold onto by himself. He twisted and wrenched himself violently out of his captor's grip until two other Saviors joined in to keep Daryl on his knees, with one forcing a strip of cloth between his teeth to quiet his protests.

Aaron didn't know what to do. Not that he could do anything in his condition. But Daryl was one of his closest friends, and she was –

There it was again, just like at the start of the meeting. As soon as Beth stopped walking to stand next to the table, both hands clenched into fists but down by her sides, her right hand flashed the briefest of "stop" signals. And judging by his slightly reduced struggles, Daryl had seen it too.

"Wait," Aaron whispered so low he barely breathed out the word. But the brothers next to him heard anyway.

Negan had already pulled on the heavy protective glove as he reached with his other hand to pull the sturdy ladderback chair out and twisted it to the side.

"I don't need a damn chair," Beth rejected the offer.

Negan eyed her with something like admiration in his eyes, "Suit yourself." He dragged it by the top rung until the chair's back was flush with the table, the seat facing towards the back wall. "Dr. Carson," Negan crooked his finger, gesturing for the man to come forward. "I know you've had a hell of a day. Unfortunately, it's not quite over. We'll be needing your services very shortly."

As Dr. Carson made his way to the front of the room, Beth maneuvered herself to the other side of the chair, closer to Negan and the furnace, and dropped to one knee, hands braced on her thigh.

At her willing surrender, everyone in the room seemed to quiet down, but the tension was still palpable.

"You sure about this?" Negan asked.

Beth nodded.

Negan used the hook to pull the glowing iron from the flames. As he looked back towards the room, he smirked, "Now this won't do. Dr. Carson, you are blocking Daryl's view." He used his free hand to thumb over his shoulder like a hitchhiker. "And he is not going to want to miss this."

Dr. Carson scuttled to stand slightly behind Beth, on the other side of her from Negan.

Negan brought the hot iron within inches of Beth's face. "Last chance to change your mind."

Beth cocked her head to the side to look directly into his eyes, "I'm Negan."

And then she pounced. Beth launched herself onto the chair just as Negan used his free hand to shove Carson towards the table. Standing on the chair gave the slight woman all the advantage she needed to propel herself onto the unsuspecting doctor's upper back and shoulders, forcing him face-down onto the metal surface, with Carson scrabbling to brace his fall with outstretched hands. Beth wasn't having it. Keeping one knee firmly planted on his spine and her other foot firmly planted on the chair to steady her balance, she brought her elbows down directly between his shoulder blades. Howling in pain, Carson's arms collapsed under the assault, giving Beth the opening she needed to push his elbows forward until his arms were outstretched and his wrists caught in Negan's determined grip.

He took his time with the branding, using the slip of freshly-melted flesh to slide the hot metal from one hand to the other, until the backs of both of Dr. Carson's hands were thoroughly burnt.

As he put the iron back into the furnace to char off the bits of skin and sinew that clung to its edges, Negan calmly addressed the sobbing man still bent over the table, "Do you know what it was that got you caught? It was the same damn thing you tried to use to frame the good Dr. Dixon here. Paperwork. God bless bureaucracy. Now there's a phrase no one expected to utter in this new world. But that's what did you in. Goddamned paperwork. You see," he started pacing, speaking more to the shocked crowd of spectators than Carson, "For the fucking life of me, I couldn't make sense of it. How could it _not_ be the Doc? Because everyone, and I don't just mean all these people, but every community, outposts, every fucking one of us knows that if the Doc's not with her kids, she's in that fucking hospital wing. And if she wasn't a mom, I'm pretty damn sure she'd just move right on in, crash on whatever bed was empty and call it done. She is in those rooms at some point of every damned day since she got here, so how in the holy hell could anyone, much less a family of three, move in here without her being the one to clear them?"

He picked up the discarded file folders and got down in Carson's line of sight, "You couldn't change the date," Negan grinned triumphantly before standing up again and raising his voice, "The forgeries were good, fucking masterpieces. Clearly you led an interesting past life – this kind of skill does not come without serious fucking practice. But you couldn't change the day they came in. I don't know if you didn't think about it, or didn't think it was important, or maybe you realized just how fucking impossible it would be and hoped to fucking God no one would notice. I don't really give a shit. Because it doesn't really matter. What does fucking matter is that someone who broke the biggest rule we have, who put his hands on his own goddamned wife and kid, was under our roof, and since I thought I'd be having a real come-to-Jesus meeting with him tonight, I was prepared to tear his fucking life apart, starting from the first day he slithered his way through our gate. And that's when I realized just how much fucking paperwork it takes to keep this place going. Fucking unreal when you think about it. But it's not just a medical check, is it?" Negan started counting off on one hand, "Got to get an apartment. Got to get clothes. Got to get food rations. Got to get a points log. And a job schedule. So much goddamned red tape. You'd think we'd be past all that, new world order and all. But here we are. And all those dates had to match. So you couldn't change yours."

Negan paused, "December 28 of this past year. I bet, once it dawns on you all, every last one of us knows exactly where the fuck we were that day. I know I do. Because on December 27th, my darling Amber's mother's health went from shit to real bad shit. M.S., fucking sucks the life out of you. Amber wouldn't leave her mother's side. And the Doc, being who she is, wouldn't let her go through it alone. So she tucked her kids into bed and came back to the hospital wing that night. Not her shift, not for extra points. Just to be there. Which is why the Doc was awake to hear the radio call. Our new outpost was on fire. Grabbed her kit and came running to join us so she could help anyone injured. And because we didn't know anything more than that, I had no problem bringing her along for the ride."

From the noises around the room, Aaron knew the rest of the Sanctuary's occupants were catching on to what he'd already figured out. Alexandria's attack on the satellite station.

"She helped put down the dead. And when it was daylight, she put her tracking skills to use to lead us through the woods, all the way to the trees outside the Alexandria Safe Zone's walls. And then I watched her get the shock of her fucking life to see her own goddamned brother-in-law standing on their watchtower."

Aaron took a steadying breath as he watched Beth try to keep her face clear of emotion while Negan spoke. A quick glance to Daryl showed he was struggling on the inside as well. At some point, all the Saviors who'd been holding him back had let go, but Daryl stayed kneeling, the cloth gag that had been tied across his mouth now hanging limp around his neck.

Aaron had never put much thought into how their whole situation had initially affected Beth. He knew from his first private encounter with Negan that the Saviors had scouted their community. And obviously, Beth had to have told him about her family at some point for Negan to know how important Daryl was to her. But he couldn't imagine how it must have felt for her, tracking an enemy through the woods only to find her family in the worst possible circumstances. It would be as if Eric had turned up in that clearing, but as one of the Saviors surrounding him, a gun steadily trained on their friends.

But Negan was still addressing the room, "By the time that day was done, Beth Dixon had spent an entire day, and night, and a whole other fucking day working her ass off for us. Because she's a Savior. Because she's Negan. But she's not fucking super-woman. Which is why, when we got back home, she went straight to her place and crashed. Making December 28 the only goddamned day in the two fucking years since she got here that the Doc didn't set foot in the infirmary. But you know who did?"

He turned back to Dr. Carson, who was still pinned to the table under Beth's weight with his legs limply dangling underneath, arms outstretched and shaking from pain. "Turns out, I didn't need to ask the kid or his shit excuse for a father. I just needed to ask my darling wife, who very clearly remembered how you, quite competently, tended to her dying mother in her final hours. Except, of course, for when you had to step out and deal with a few new arrivals." Negan leaned down as if to have a private word with his victim, but his voice carried in the shocked silence, "I want to know why. I want to know what _possible_ explanation you have for this," he shoved the files under Dr. Carson's sweating face.

Carson's mouth gaped like a fish trying to breathe air before Negan's patience wore thin, "I think you owe it to the people who died today, to the ones who got hurt, to their family and friends, and you definitely fucking owe it to her," he pointed at Beth, still bearing her weight down on Carson's back to keep him in place, "and if you can't find it in your gutless corpse to explain it on your own, I will happily pull that iron back out of the fire and offer you a bit more motivation."

"I… it… you…" Emmett Carson stammered, wildly gazing around the room as if the words he needed would somehow manifest on the walls around them.

Beth leaned down slightly, keeping her hands firmly braced between his shoulder blades until the man's cheek was firmly pressed against the table, "Let's make this a bit easier. Did you check them over that day, or just wave 'em on through? Few weeks ago, I asked ya to take a look at Ruby, that I thought something was wrong with her. Did you know all along? Or did ya only find out then and realize what you'd done?"

"I panicked," Emmett choked out. "I… Everything happening that day… you were out there… bodies coming in and gossip flying, everyone wanting to know… they seemed decent enough… but then, it's like you said, you asked me to check on Mrs. Lassiter, and I knew… I thought… he'd never hurt you… you're everyone's favorite," he finished lamely.

Even through the man's obvious pain, something about his words rang hollow with Aaron. But the explanation didn't seem to bother Negan.

"Turn your hands over."

Negan was pulling the iron back out of the furnace.

"I'd do it," Beth's voice was calm but her face was stony, "It's gonna happen either way."

When Carson still hesitated, she balled her fists and leaned forward, grinding her knuckles deep into the spaces under his shoulder blades until he cried out in fresh agony.

Negan grabbed the wrist closest to him, "You had your chance." He pressed the bright-hot iron into the doctor's palm for several seconds before lifting the metal just to bring it down over his trembling fingers.

Sticking the iron back into the fire once more to re-heat it for Carson's remaining hand, Negan mused, "In case you haven't put it together by now, your days of practicing medicine here are done. In fact, I'm pretty fucking sure your time practicing medicine anywhere is officially behind you. I'm no expert, but I'm betting that those hands are way fucking beyond a full recovery. But don't you worry, Emmett, the whole point of delivering a painful lesson like this one is that you live a good long while to learn from it. But not here."

He grabbed the iron and quickly slammed it down on Dr. Carson's other hand, searing the flesh and forever scarring both hands. "First thing tomorrow, you are heading back to Hilltop. See, I might not feel the need to let Lucille have your head for this, but I sure as shit do not trust you living under my roof anymore. Good news is, you've got a brother. Is he a big brother or a baby brother? Doesn't matter, really, important thing is, he's a brother who's also a doctor! So at least we won't be short-handed."

Negan paused long enough to put the iron back into the furnace a final time before stripping off the protective glove and tossing it on the table. "You can let him up now, Doc." He turned to a couple of nearby Saviors, "Pick him up and put him somewhere comfy for the night. Seeing as how our cell is still occupied, that stairway landing will do. Make sure he stays there until morning." He raised his voice to the crowd, "No one touches him, no one goes anywhere near him. We aren't in the revenge business. We are about justice. And he's paid his dues."

"What about Daryl?"

Negan sighed and turned to Charlie Preston, who'd brought himself to his feet.

"God damn, Charlie, I know I opened myself up to this, bringing up the outpost attack and all, but could we just _not_, for one fucking night?"

"That's not what I meant." The old man pressed forward. "He could've run. Was out there, free and clear, and he knew after that wife-beater turned up dead there'd be Hell to pay. But he came back anyhow. Could have sat his ass out, safe and sound like the rest of us, when that bomb went off. 'Stead, he's the first one down there helpin' our people. We let the other one walk around, work with us, live with us, and we did it without him doin' shit to prove himself. When's Daryl done enough? When's he paid his dues?"

"Don't."

Everyone, even Negan, turned to Daryl with clear surprise and confusion on their faces. Daryl was still by the furnace, still on his knees, but his eyes were locked on the old man who'd just stuck his neck out for him.

"Don't," he repeated softly. "You can't be speakin' up for me."

Negan intervened, "Daryl had his chance and he made his choice."

"Oh, fuck that," Charlie dismissed, "No one gave him any kind of choice," he gestured flippantly in Aaron's direction, "Had him scrubbed down and bundled off to that old folks home you're always tryin' to talk me into. They come from the same place, done the same shit, ain't no reason for him to be takin' up that cell when he's got a wife and kids he could – "

"I killed your grandson." Again, Daryl's voice was quiet, but he might has well have used a bullhorn. Even Beth looked shocked. Daryl kept his chin down but his eyes looked up to meet Charlie's gaze, "I killed him. No one else. Saw his picture in the book. He made it out of the building just fine. Got rounded up with the others. We were lookin' for Negan. He said that's who he was. Tryin' to protect the rest of the group. I shot him. So you can't… you can't be speakin' up for me."

For several moments, no one seemed to know what to do. Finally, Charlie responded, "Well, then, seems like I'm the one who's got the most right in sayin' what happens to you. You feel like shit for what you done?"

Daryl didn't speak or move, but something must have shown in his expression, because Charlie nodded. "Good. Fucking do something about it, make it right."

"I can't…" Daryl cut himself off, and for the first time, he allowed some of the guilt he was feeling to show in his expression, "Ain't no way. Your boy, he was just protectin' his own. And he never did anythin' to me or mine. Ain't no way to make that right. And I can't…" Aaron watched Daryl's eyes drift to Beth before he pulled himself together and faced Charlie again, "You taught your boys to be good men. I… I ain't any kind of father," again, his gaze shifted, almost as if of its own accord, to Beth, "I can't be… They can't be makin' the same mistakes I… We seen it before…They gotta know, some things stick with you, can't be undone." Whatever silent communication or shared memory was passing between Beth and Daryl at that moment, Aaron could only guess at. The moment was over almost as soon as it had begun.

"So you're just gonna stay in that box forever, whining like a goddamned sissy and doing fuck-all to be useful," Charlie scornfully summed up.

Daryl bristled at the verbal barb, "That ain't – "

But Charlie seemed to be done listening to Daryl, deliberately turning to face Negan, who had, like everyone else in the room, been watching the exchange with unconcealed interest, "Ain't doin' shit for me or anyone else around here to have him washing dishes or poking fence walkers with a stick. If you're gonna keep him here, at least have him doing something that actually helps folks out. Ain't that the whole goddamned point of keeping Alexandria alive? So they can be useful?"

Negan tipped his head to the side, "Man does have a point. It does seem a goddamned shame to waste talent, and someone like you is bound to have at least one or two tricks up his sleeve."

Murphy nudged Connor, jostling Aaron slightly in the process. The pair quickly shared a look before Connor nodded and Murphy called out, "He said something earlier today, when we were searching for survivors, something about being in construction before."

Negan turned back to Daryl with an expectant look.

"Houses," Daryl clarified, "From time to time."

"Well, I've got a big fucking hole in my floor. Cracks in my walls. So that's settled. First thing tomorrow, you're off shit-list duty."

And then, as if to physically put the whole emotionally complicated mess behind him, Negan moved himself closer to the assembled crowd, putting his back to Daryl and Beth, who was still near the table where they'd branded Emmett Carson. "Remember, no one goes on that side of the building until we get the all-clear. Could be days, could be weeks. Something else this situation has brought to light. While I hope this was just a one-off fuck-up on the soon-to-be-departing Dr. Carson's part, fact is, we have a goddamned hole in our Sanctuary. And we cannot afford to let something like this happen again. Which is why, starting tomorrow, Dr. Dixon, our new head doctor, will be re-doing medical checks for everyone. You are all expected to give her your full cooperation. If, for whatever reason, you think that's not going to work for you, then, before morning shift starts tomorrow, we'll open the gates for ten minutes. That will be your one and only chance to walk away clean. Until then, I think we've had enough for one day. Go home."

Aaron stayed in his seat as the crowd dispersed. Having never used crutches before, he was awkward and worried he'd end up tripping someone if he tried to move through the throngs of people. Besides, staying quietly on the sidelines allowed him the chance to listen to people's comments. And gave him the opportunity to see Negan approach Beth as she attempted to leave unnoticed.

"Congratulations on the promotion, Doc. Though, truth be told, it's not like we all didn't know you were pretty much running things already. Still, hell of a responsibility. Sorry for springing the surprise physicals on you, but you understand, right?"

"Of course," she nodded, frowning slightly, "Who knows what damage Emmett's done? We need to be safe, and to be safe, we need to be thorough."

Negan nodded, "Um-hmm," he hummed, as if to say _yes, and that's not all…_ But rather than give voice to whatever he meant, Negan switched gears, "Hell of a job you did, Doc," he grinned. "I get so used to you being all sweet and obliging. But you are one badass motherfucker."

"Don't you forget it," Beth replied, soft and serious, before turning on her heel and striding out of the room.

Negan chuckled to himself as he walked over to where Aaron was still sitting. But it wasn't Aaron he wanted to talk to.

"First thing tomorrow, I need you two," he gestured to Murphy and Connor, "to take in Isaac. One of you should be with him wherever he goes."

"You sure about this?"

Negan's face was grim, "Keep him safe." He waited just long enough for both men to nod in acknowledgement before striding away.

Connor waited until Negan was a safe distance away before observing, "He does know that we have absolutely no fucking clue how to take care of a child, right?"

"It's not rocket science," Aaron quipped under his breath. He sighed, "Look, just… tomorrow, go to his room, get his bed, or at least his sheets and pillow, his clothes, and his favorite toy. And his mother's pillow, too. Listen to him, be patient. Get him settled into a routine. He'll open up to you when he's ready."

"How do we know which toy is his favorite?" Murphy asked.

"It'll be in his bed, or right next to it," Aaron declared. Seeing their matching blank expressions, he added, "First thing he grabs when he gets up in the morning and the last thing he puts down before he falls asleep – that's his favorite. And he'll have an easier time falling asleep if he has his own blankets and pillow because they're familiar. You'll know which pillow was hers by the hairs on it, and, you'll want it because…" he sighed, "it'll smell like her, might help him with nightmares."

"Maybe he should be staying with you," Murphy suggested, a slight smile but at the same time being serious about the idea.

Aaron was incredulous, "Have you lost your mind?" he asked as quietly as possible, mindful that, while many people had cleared out, the room was not completely empty. "I may not know everything that's going on here, but I am not an idiot. Negan might want to sweep today under the rug as some one-off crazy incident, there is a reason he, and you, and Daryl are all worried about Isaac's safety. And no matter how much everyone around here seems to have suddenly warmed up to me and Daryl and everyone else from Alexandria, there's a reason that I wasn't given so much as a butter knife in my apartment. Even without my ankle being like it is, I have absolutely no way of protecting that child. So you two are going to have to suck it up and figure this out. And not traumatize him even more than he already is. Poor kid's been through more than enough."

* * *

"You gotta get out of here."

It was what Daryl had wanted to say to Beth as soon as the crowd began disbursing, but Dwight had him by the scruff of his sweatshirt collar and was hauling him back to his cell with such tenacity that Daryl could almost believe Dwight had read his mind to know just how badly he'd needed to check on Beth in that moment. Daryl really hoped Dwight proved to be aligned with Simon. He hadn't wished someone dead since the Governor killed his brother, but he couldn't say he wouldn't feel pretty damn satisfied if the irritating son-of-a-bitch lost what was left of his face to Negan's bat.

Beth turned up just moments after Dwight slammed the door, but Daryl was too wound up to be placated by her arrival. Too close. He'd been too damn close to failing all over again, to having done everything right and still not being enough. So when she stepped into the cramped cell, Daryl wasted no time tugging her in and pulling the door shut behind her. Like he had the first time she'd appeared in his cell, he ignored his usual aversion to touch and moved his hands over her arms and torso with frenzied fingers occasionally snagging in stray tangles hairs that had come loose from her braid, not so much to check for injuries but more to assure himself she was _there_ and _safe_. He kept his voice low, mindful of potential eavesdroppers, "You gotta get out of here."

In the dark, he couldn't see her face, but his imagination could fill in the gaps from her surprised "What? I – "

"Don't. You and Negan had your fun with that little show, but you can't screw around like that again. You gotta see that stickin' around here is suicide. Tonight, Beth, I mean it. You take your kids, go to that farm, or wherever he's keepin' Maggie. Hell, take 'em all the way back to Georgia."

"Daryl, I can't," Beth cut in. "You saw – "

"Yeah, I saw alright, on my fucking knees, unable to do shit while you're – "

She put a hand on his chest, which stopped his words but did nothing for the heaving breaths he forced through his nostrils.

"It was all for show, you said it yourself," Beth's tone and words were measured as if she were talking to a small child, and it was doing nothing for Daryl's nerves. "Negan and I had it all worked out and I was gonna tell you, but y'all got back so late and there just wasn't – "

"Look, you said you could leave whenever you wanted. That true or ain't it?" Steadying hand on his chest or no, Daryl's patience with the day and this whole place was shot.

Beth's hand slipped away, but the familiar whirr of the emergency lantern's hand crank soon had the room flooded with the blue-white glow. Daryl was taken back, though, by the intensity of Beth's glare.

"Don't treat me like I'm stupid, Daryl. Like you think I don't know how bad today was. I knew every single person we either treated or said goodbye to, and until a few hours ago, Emmett Carson was my friend. You don't even know how much he helped me learn. So, yeah, I can leave, but no, I ain't gonna," Beth declared. "Ya think runnin' away's gonna fix anything? What about our family? What about Aaron, and Maggie?"

"She left you behind easy enough," Daryl grumbled under his breath.

"Well, I ain't her!" Beth caught her rising temper and took a visible, shoulder-shifting breath to calm herself enough to lower her voice. "Ain't nothin' about any of this is gonna get better by runnin' and hidin' in the woods somewhere. And even if it could, that ain't who we are. I'm sorry ya got scared today, but you know who else is scared? Simon, or whoever wanted that thing goin' off in my medical ward, and they'll be lookin' to find a new way to take over. Negan, who thought he had it all figured out and won't have any problem lashing out at the people who matter most to us if it helps him stay on top. And maybe Liam and Lily aren't old enough to know what's what, but Sunni and Tim sure are, and while everyone else got to hold on to their families for a bit, they had to watch and keep on being scared while I took care of everyone else but them."

_You dumb shit_, Daryl felt is his angst deflating the longer she railed. Just like at the moonshine still, having someone – no, having _Beth_ – get in his face allowed him to get out of his own way and get a better perspective. _Ain't the only one having a shit day. Tough as nails, but helping Negan torture Carson – she ain't cold like that. And not being able to check on her own kids after the bombing just because everyone's eyes were on her. They weren't the only ones scared today._

When it was clear she was out of things to say to him, at least for the moment, Daryl felt about as low as he had at the still once he'd run out of tears and sobered up enough to realize how badly he'd treated her that afternoon. What he wanted to say was something along the lines of _I'm sorry. I don't want you running away because I think you're some dumb little girl who can't fend for herself. I'm just scared I won't be enough, that I'll lose you all over again. I know you're tough enough to take on everything they've got and keep on fighting, but you shouldn't feel like you've got to do it all alone. And then you come down here probably looking for the first friendly face you've seen all day, and instead I unload all my shit on you._

That's what he meant to say, but all that came out was, "I'm an asshole."

Beth let out an involuntary, but not indelicate, snort and offered a half-grin. "Been a rough day for all of us." He noticed she wasn't disagreeing with his comment, but he figured he more than deserved it, and she wasn't glaring anymore. He'd take what he could get.

She inched towards him, closing the already tight space between them, "I know this place is awful for ya," and he knew she meant more than just the cell they were currently standing in. "Got you too closed in and nowhere to go or room to breathe, and then today everyone seein'…"

Daryl could taste faintly the blood in his mouth where he worried through the inside of his lower lip. His scars. He'd nearly forgotten about that. Outside of Hershel (for medical purposes only), no one in their family had seen him without a shirt, and now –

"I didn't look," Beth revealed, her gaze dropping from his face to settle on one of the new dried blood spots on his sweatshirt. "I knew you wouldn't want me to, so when I saw it was you comin' up through that window, I made sure not to… Was a time I would have, I dunno, snuck a glance or two. Would've tried to tell ya they don't mean nothin', or that they prove you're stronger, something... But it ain't about that," she whispered. "Sometimes it's all ya got, the only thing left that's yours to choose." Even with her chin tipped low and the lantern light throwing strange and deep shadows, Daryl could see in her eyes that her thoughts were somewhere else, a time and place she'd yet to tell him about. "Even when you know it's not the most important thing, it's yours and you hold onto it because it's what you've got… I'm sorry you had to give that up today. But for whatever it's worth, just… I didn't look."

She finally met his gaze again, and he wished he had something more profound to say than a softly grunted, "Thanks." He hoped the look he gave her was enough to show what it meant to him that she'd respected his need for privacy even with everything that had been going on around them. He hoped someday he'd figure out how to repay her.

"I should be gettin' upstairs." Daryl couldn't tell if her soft tone was wistful or filled with regret. Maybe torn between both. It seemed to him Beth was always being pulled in different directions with little left to hold onto for herself. _Except…_

"Sooner we get this done, sooner we can get you into that millhouse you talked about," Daryl offered, trying to show he was on her side. That he was willing to do this on her terms.

It earned him more of a smile. "That will be somethin' to look forward to," she replied. "Not running away. Just – "

"Moving forward." He recalled her words from their first night together since he'd lost her in Georgia.

"Yeah," Beth agreed and took a deep breath, "And then we get you free and you can go on to whatever it is that makes you happy."

Daryl frowned, "Thought I was invited?"

"Daryl," she sighed, already halfway through the open doorway, "Think we both know you'll be a whole lot better off when you ain't stuck lookin' after me anymore."

_What the Hell just happened?_ But she was already gone, hadn't even bothered to lock the door behind her.

He'd half a mind to go after her, stopping short at the door frame only because 1 – he'd bought himself some kind of goodwill today and it probably wasn't worth risking, and 2 – he thought she might be needing a little space from him to deal with all she'd been through that day.

So instead of doing what he really wanted, Daryl pushed himself off from the doorframe and let the momentum carry him back to the opposite wall, sliding down the painted cinderblock to settle on the concrete slab floor with barely an audible thud. The movement jostled his sore muscles enough that he allowed himself the wince and quiet grunt.

The next few days would be rough, he knew, backbreaking work on top of already sore and strained muscles. Nothing he hadn't pushed through before; more than once he and Merle had been picked up after a bar fight. The cops would almost always find some outstanding warrant on his big brother. But when Daryl's involvement was questioned, Merle had always scoffed about his sweet, soft baby brother didn't have the balls for whatever it was Merle himself was accused of. With nothing to hold him on, Daryl had always been released after a night in the drunk tank, where he'd then be left to figure out what to do with himself for the next few months until Merle got out and he could trail after him again. Daryl had resented Merle back then, but he could look back now and see his brother's attitude for the protective gesture it was.

Not entirely unlike the end-run he'd just tried to do on Beth, scuttling her off to the sidelines somewhere so he could take the brunt of whatever was coming next. Except, unlike him, Beth wasn't got to let herself be dismissed so easily. _Ain't like there's anywhere safe for her to be anyhow, jackass. And if your whole life's taught you anything, it's that you really don't want to be alone._

The door opened easily, Negan's gloved hand pressed flat against the painted metal until it hit the other wall. Daryl had heard the footsteps approaching – he'd just hoped whoever it was would pass him by.

Negan's eyes were hooded and his expression unusually stony, "You must be the dumbest motherfucker on the whole goddamned planet."

* * *

Beth kept her back straight and a pleasant smile plastered on her face, nodding to those she passed feeling, more keenly tonight than usual, the many eyes following her movements. But as soon as she got to the medical greenhouse and was certain she was alone and the plastic sheeting that served as the greenhouse's walls was obscuring everyone's view of her, she dropped into a crouch and curled in on herself, wrapping her arms around her knees, letting the tears she'd held back all afternoon stream down her face and wishing she could hide under the tables the way she'd used to hide in her closet whenever she'd heard Maggie and her parents in a shouting match over her rebellious smoking and shoplifting habits.

Today had been too much. She knew those people in assisted living, knew their families, knew they were all depending on her and, even though she had nothing to do with what had happened today, she'd felt like she'd failed. And this was the one thing she'd been really good at, the one place where no one thought of her as being less than everyone else.

And it _had_ been too close. For all she'd brushed it off and acted confident in her place with the Saviors, she'd been genuinely afraid of how the day would turn out. She wasn't stupid and she wasn't naïve like Daryl seemed to think. Beth knew that Negan was self-centered and that he'd put his own survival above anyone else's, including hers.

She was still scared, for herself and for her children. If it really came down to it, she knew she couldn't protect them by herself. Not in a physical fight and not with all these manipulations and politics (for lack of a better word). That wasn't who she was. So when she went to Daryl's cell tonight, she'd really been hoping, counting on even, to lean on his strength, just for a minute or two so she could get her emotional bearings again. Just to feel protected. Like after burning the moonshine still, or even before that; Daryl might have gotten on her last nerve with his gruff manners and silent treatment back then, but she'd known that he'd never let anything happen to her. Not that she didn't know that now, but it felt like everything was up to her, and had been for so long, and she just wanted a few moments of feeling like she could depend on someone else to do the heavy lifting for a change.

Beth wasn't being fair, and she knew it. Daryl had given up his freedom for her. She hadn't been there that night that Negan cornered her family in the clearing, but she'd heard enough from the Saviors who were to imagine how she'd have felt in her family's place. And she meant it when she said she got why he stood by Rick, taking the hard road for himself with a moral stand against what Negan and the Saviors stood for, and the more comfortable life he could have, while everyone in Alexandria would be barely scraping by and living in near-constant fear. It was honorable, and Beth knew, even if he didn't believe it about himself, that Daryl was one of the most honorable and good men left in this world. But she'd thought – just for a moment, now that he knew the Saviors weren't all bad and she was making a life for herself here – when the opportunity came up, he'd choose her.

She wasn't mad at him, exactly. She couldn't be – he'd spoken from his heart (no easy feat from the likes of Daryl Dixon, she knew). And him thinking he needed to keep punishing himself for his part in the outpost attack made perfect sense to anyone who understood Daryl. It's just… It was hard to keep going it alone when the person she'd come to trust the most to have her back was _right there_ and just… wouldn't.

Disappointed. That was it. Beth felt disappointed. Choosing her didn't mean _not_ choosing Rick or the others, but she didn't know how to get Daryl to see that. It hurt, knowing that she meant _something_ to Daryl (and she knew that she did), but it still wasn't enough. It felt like Maggie's road signs for Glenn all over again. Beth counted, but only after the ones who mattered more. Wasn't she anyone's first choice?

_Yes,_ she heard a little voice inside her head. _Tim and Sunni and Lily and Liam. You're their first choice and here you are, cryin' yourself silly like the little girl everyone always said you were, while they're waiting upstairs wondering why you're not with them. _

She swiped the moisture away from her eyes and cheeks and tried to rub the wet spots out of her vest – no point in letting her kids know she'd been crying. Suddenly feeling an urgent need to have her arms around her babies, she took the elevator rather than the stairs as she normally would, sliding under the fire escape railing with less grace than she'd like. _Out of practice, need to be exercising and stretching regularly. Never know when you might need to run_. She had gotten lax, she knew, and couldn't afford to be. People were counting on her, and it didn't matter if she wasn't able to count on anyone.

If nothing else, today's events had made this much clear: it was down to her. Somehow, she was going to have to get Negan and Rick to see eye to eye so her family could be whole again. And whatever it was going to take, she would just have to make it happen, and not wait for anyone else to step in and either help or get in her way.

As soon as Beth opened the door into her apartment, she knew she was exactly where she was meant to be. The twins barreled into her legs and Sunni nearly tripped herself trying to reach over them for a hug, fear clearly shining in her bright green eyes. Tim, she could tell, was just barely holding himself back from doing the same.

"I'm fine," Beth declared to her oldest two, using the close contact with her daughter as a chance to tug the ties out of Sunni's braided hair and ruffle her fingers through the plaits to loosen them. When Tim didn't seem to believe her, Beth stressed, "I mean it, everything's fine. Let's get these two settled down for the night and I'll tell you all about it."

_I should have been up here earlier. With everything that happened today, they must've been worried sick. And if anyone ought to be put first, it's them._

"You know what? Let's have a sleepover in my bed tonight, just the three of us," Beth smiled as Sunni visibly perked up.

_Will you sing?_ The girl signed one-handed, keeping her other arm firmly wrapped around Beth's waist.

Beth didn't answer, just moved their little group over to the far corner of the room where the electric piano sat under a thin layer of dust and haphazardly scattered sheet music. Technically, instrument belonged to the entire sixth floor, everyone having chipped in after Beth had mentioned how much she missed playing during a floor-wide Christmas dinner her first year here. A few months later, the full-sized keyboard had been scavenged and brought into the Sanctuary's market, only to be snatched up by her neighbors that same afternoon. It rested on a plywood flat with wheels and was occasionally rolled to other apartments, but everyone had determined that it would be generally housed with Beth. Sweeping her hand through the dust to clear it, she regretted, not for the first time, that she so seldom used the generous gift.

"Any requests?" she deliberately tipped her voice to a lighter tone as Liam and Lily both clamored into her lap, each turning sideways and tucking their heads against her shoulders. Sunni was determined to stay close as well, squeezing herself onto the narrow bench and leaning against Beth's side. At the question, the girl shook her head, her wavy blonde hairs whipping lightly at her cheeks after being freed from their pigtail braids.

From the spot he chose at the end of Beth's bed, laying on his stomach with his chin propped on folded arms, Tim answered for both of them, "Whatever you want, Mom."

Beth turned on the instrument and checked that the volume was low enough not to disturb the neighbors, even though the main room of her space was in a corner of the building and no one occupied the space directly next to her. She absently toyed with a few melodies, thoughts drifting inevitably to the person she wished were up here with them. It was so much simpler before, she thought to herself. Losing the prison had been both one of the worst things she'd experienced but also led to some of her best memories building a connection with someone she'd respected, if not outright admired, from a distance. But whatever threads she and Daryl had been tying together between them back then were now all tangled up in complicated knots, and she was tired of other people tugging at those strings.

Her fingers found the notes to an old favorite from her early teenage days of naïve angst when she foolishly thought she understood the world and all it had to offer her, and she sang it softly, adjusting the lyrics to fit her feelings.

_You breathed infinity into my world  
And time was lost up in a cloud and in a whirl.  
We dug a hole in the cool grey earth and lay there for the night.  
Then you said, "wait for me, we'll fly the wind,  
We'll grow old and you'll be stronger." But I'm bitter now.  
My world was at your feet. I was lost and I was found,  
But I was alive, and now I've drowned.  
_

_You sighed and I was lost in you, weeks could've past for all I knew.  
You were the blanket in an ugly world and so I couldn't say,  
I wouldn't say no. They all said, "you're too young to even know,  
Just don't let it grow and you'll be stronger without him."  
But oh, now, my world is at your feet. I was lost and I was found,  
But I was alive, and now I've drowned.  
So now I will be waiting for the world to hear my song  
So they can tell me I was wrong._

_But they weren't there beneath your stare,  
And they weren't stripped 'till they were bare of  
Any bindings from the world outside that room._

Before she could even get halfway through the chorus, Beth knew she needed to change things up. Hadn't she just promised herself that she was going to be strong for her kids and herself? And here she was, throwing a musical pity-party.

_And they weren't taken by the hand  
And led through fields of naked land  
Where any pre-conceived ideas were blown away,  
So I couldn't say no…_

_But their pride-like promises can let you down._

Beth's fingers stumbled a bit – she hadn't played this one since well before the Turn. But she wasn't going to let a little thing like unfamiliarity stop her from pushing through the more up-beat tune.

_You thought that you'd be feeling better by now.  
You worry all the things they could do to you, and  
You worry about the things they could say.  
Maybe you're seeing things the wrong way._

_Don't let 'em get where they're going to.  
You know they're only what they think of you.  
You heard of this emotional trickery,  
And you felt like you were learning the ropes,  
But where you're going now you don't know._

_And when the kids on the street say  
What's your problem girl?  
And the weight of their smiles just  
Too much for you to bear,  
When they all make you feel  
Like you're a problem girl,  
Remember, you're no problem at all.  
Try.  
If you stand or you fall,  
You're no problem at all._

"Mom?" Beth turned as Tim spoke in a quiet voice after the last notes had faded, "Are we safe now?"

Beth breathed deep and then sat up a little more determinedly, "We will be."

* * *

"You had them, you get that, right? You had the whole fucking Sanctuary eating out of the palm of your fucking hand and you fucking gave it away!" Negan was near yelling by this point, "Have you lost your goddamned mind? The fuck is wrong with you?"

Daryl didn't bother attempting to get to his knees, or feet, or whatever he was supposed to do now. The day had been too long and draining, his body too sore and energy spent. Instead, he stared blankly as Negan continued to berate him, genuinely exasperated.

"I don't fucking get you, I really don't." Negan was a bundle of pent-up energy, itching to pace in the tiny gap of the cell's entrance and frustrated at the lack of room do to so. "You do understand that she likes you, right? I mean, you're not fucking stupid! And you like women, I think. Or at least you like _her._ That much I'm goddamned sure of. God fucking dammit, I can't believe I'm having this fucking conversation – " Negan kept clenching his fists and his teeth in aggravation as he tried to rein himself back down to a reasonable volume. "You are the most stubbornly stupid son-of-a-bitch I've ever met, but goddamn if I am not going to get through to your emotionally stunted self." He took a deep, steadying breath.

"Women are…" Negan searched for the right word, "awesome, okay? They're fucking amazing – different shape, size, color, personality, all wrapped up in these beautiful, fantastic-smelling packages, and I love 'em all!" He was full-on grinning, and Daryl imagined Negan picturing the various women he'd had in his life as he described, "Some women, they're… they're special. There's just something _more_ about them. And Beth, she's one of those. She's special. And these special women, they deserve _perfection_. They deserve to walk through life never feeling sad, or lonely, or hurt, or even fucking inconvenienced. Beth deserves that, yes?"

Privately, Daryl agreed, but outwardly gave no sign beyond continuing to stare from his seated position against the wall of his cell.

"She can't have it," Negan stated matter-of-factly. "No matter how much she deserves it, no matter how much you or I or everyone else around her would like to give it to her, a perfect life just isn't in the cards for Beth. The world is shit, and some of that shit has made its way into her world and that's just the way it is. Fucking sucks, but there you have it. So if she can't have perfect, then she ought to at least get what she needs, right? Except Beth is the kind of girl who isn't looking to someone to take care of her. Anything she needs, she fucking goes and gets it. Beth isn't sitting around, waiting for a man to rescue her or sweep her off her feet or even to pick up the fucking check. She's too damn feisty and independent, and she's going to take care of her own."

Negan took a breath, "So if she can't have what she deserves, and she'll get what she needs without anyone's help or say-so, then all that's left is to give her what she wants. And for some reason God only knows, what she wants is you."

His theatrical personality couldn't help but pause for effect before continuing, "I don't know why. The way she held out for you, I had you all kinds of built up in my head. But watching you for more than a month now, I just don't fucking get it. Sure, you've got some skills, some personality quirks, but on the whole? There is nothing special about Daryl Dixon. Just another asshole too stubborn to die. Beth could spit in any direction and hit half a dozen men no better or worse than you. But she picks you. Fights for you. Lies for you – or at least misleads for you. Sets you up for success with all those blind-following fuckers back there, and what do you do with it?"

Some of the anger leached back into his voice, "You might have them all fooled, thinking that was some kind of nobility or humble shit, but you and I both know that ain't the whole fucking truth. You're scared of her. And you should be – Beth's the kind of woman you'd be absolutely fucking stupid not to be at least a little bit afraid of. But you let that fear not only fuck yourself over but her, too? Well, that just makes you a goddamned coward piece-of-shit stupid motherfucker. You think Rick Grimes cares that you're sitting here? You think he's got some secret superhuman Daryl-radar that goes off with a blaring siren in his head – Red alert! Daryl's putting someone else's feelings above the all-needy Rick Fucking Grimes! News flash, Daryl, this" Negan circled his gloved index finger around the general space of Daryl's cell, "does not help him. It doesn't help anyone back in Alexandria. Doesn't help Maggie. Doesn't help Aaron. And thanks to today's series of semi-fortunate events, this doesn't help my people anymore, either. And it sure as shit doesn't help Beth. So your little 'sackcloth and ashes' routine here is helping exactly _no one_. Which brings me back to my original point: You sitting here, miserable, shit-smelling, and alone, when you could be upstairs sharing a comfortable life with a fucking amazingly special woman, doing whatever the fuck-all it is you two used to do together that made her decide you were the only thing she wants in this world – you must be the stupidest motherfucker on the whole goddamned planet."

Negan threw the cell door's key in Daryl's face so abruptly that he didn't have a chance to reach up and block the small metallic object from hitting his cheek before bouncing off onto the floor beside him. "Lock yourself in from now on, you dumb fuck. The only one keeping you prisoner here is you."

Negan slammed the door shut, leaving Daryl alone in the dark with nothing but his thoughts and the sense-memory of Beth's hair tangled around his fingers and her lingering scent tickling his nose. Negan's right, Daryl decided, not that he could do anything about it now. Anyone else would have known how to use that meeting to their advantage, gotten out of this hole and into a position where they could actually do some good. He'd blown it and somehow managed to upset his unlabeled whatever-it-is with Beth in the process. He really was an asshole.

* * *

Song Credits: "They Weren't There" by Missy Higgins, 2004; and "Problem Girl" by Rob Thomas, 2005.

**Thanks so much for sticking with me and my slow updates! Reviews, questions, concerns, they're all greatly appreciated!**


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